Something's Brewing
by FremenCredo
Summary: More adventures of F!Hawke/Anders from the Mundane Magic world. What started out as a simple search and rescue leads to the creation of something new for the patrons of the Hanged Man, and several people confront ghosts from their past. M for sex & angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Something's Brewing**

**A/N** Credit (or blame ;-P) for this one is shared with my partner in crime Snarkoleptic, because after learning how the Hawke in Mundane Magic got so nimble and graceful, a nickname was put forth that became the core of this story. Now if we can only convince Bioware to start producing it in limited quantities... Also, this is rated M for teh secks, and it does get a bit dark as the chapters emerge ...

**Drowning Your Sorrows**

Hawke had never seen Varric so distracted. Angry, yes. Disappointed, even. But depressed? Never. It made her downright uneasy to see his normally twinkling brown eyes flat and distant. It had been quite a few days since they had returned from rescuing Yevhen's foolish sons, but some of the darkness of the Deep Roads still clung to him like a cloud.

She took a deep gulp from her mug and swallowed hastily. "Ah, that really hits the spot," she said loudly, in an attempt to pierce his apathy. "Absolutely delicious." She fought to suppress a shudder of nausea.

"Hmmm? I'm sorry Hawke, what was that?" The dwarf put down his mug, untasted, and looked at her with a slight frown pulling one corner of his mouth to the side.

"I was trying to snap you out of it, but at this point I'm beginning to think nothing short of setting Bianca on fire would get your attention, Varric. What's wrong? You've been in a funk for days." Impulsively, Hawke reached across the corner of the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly.

"Hey now, don't be doing that," Varric protested, trying to free his hand. "If Blondie sees us getting all cozy like this, I'm liable to end up as a little heap of ashes." Hawke could hear a bit of the old bantering tone entering his voice and grinned, still holding his hand tight.

"Don't be silly, Varric. He's is the one who told me to come see you. I would have been by sooner, to take care of disposin of the rest of the loot we brought back, but I've had some Hightown business that needed squaring away. Now, tell me what has turned the incorrigible Varric Tethras into a broken husk of a duster."

The storyteller put his other hand over hers and smiled sadly. "What is it about dwarf brothers, Hawke? What turns them against their own family? I'll be the first to admit Bartrand and I were never close, but what would drive him to betray me like he did? And Yevhen's boys - Iwan turned on Merin and Emrys. Even in Orzammar - Bhelen killed one brother and framed the other... What is it about us, Hawke?" he repeated morosely.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head in disagreement. "It's not just dwarves, Varric. You never got a chance to meet Carver, but you should ask Aveline about him sometime. I loved him, even if he was a petulant git most of the time - but we were never really on good terms. Growing up, I could tell he resented me almost as much as he resented Bethany, simply because Father spent so much time teaching us.

"And judging from a few of the tidbits that Sebastian's let drop, he had the same problem with some of his brothers. It's just the nature of the beast, I guess. Maybe they think they're overshadowed. Maybe they want more power or acknowledgement. I'm just glad I got a good brother as my closest friend."

Varric's eyes met hers for a long moment, then the dwarf colored slightly and looked away, clearing his throat. This time, when he moved to free his hand, Hawke let it go with an exaggerated sigh and a fluttering of eyelashes, so that he laughed outright.

She nudged his mug across the tabletop towards his near hand and raised her own half-empty cup, holding it out silently. Varric picked up his drink and gently touched the mug to hers before draining it in one long draught, then watched as she used her usual method of downing the rest of her drink in one gulp and grimacing.

"So, Hawke, you still haven't developed a taste for dwarven ale?" he said, mouth twitching in a slight smirk, apparently having recovered most of his usual good spirits.

Instead of replying, Hawke merely belched and waved the evidence away, and Varric smiled fully. "Don't ever change, Hawke. What would I do for stories without you to give me ideas? Now, what say we look into what we picked up from that foul place and decide what to sell where..."

After setting aside a small share of the coin for the companions who had gone on the rescue, the balance of the money was earmarked for Anders' clinic and Lirene's shop. Next, they went through the assorted weapons and odd bits of salvageable armor and decided whether to sell them in Hightown or Lowtown.

All of the accumulated detritus and miscellaneous junk would be funneled to the templar-sanctioned vendors in the Gallows - that being Hawke's favorite way of leaching coin from the Order to spread amongst the refugees still in Darktown - not to mention the fact that it also gave Anders a sense of vindictive pleasure to imagine Meredith up to her neck in torn trousers and piles of pebbles and worthless trinkets.

Finally, there was only one item left. Hawke hefted it in her hand, turning it to catch the light of the candles and fireplace, watching it glitter. "Well, there's lyrium in it; that's plain to see, but what the damned thing is is beyond me," she said in frustration. "Maybe I should just give it to Sandal and see what he can do with it ..."

"Wait just a minute, Hawke," Varric said suddenly, and held out his hand. She passed it to him, raising a questioning eyebrow. The dwarf trailed a finger around the outside of the metallic circlet and then nodded. "_Corff_," he bellowed towards the door.

They heard a muffled response from the lower level of the tavern, and Varric poured them another mug of ale apiece while they waited. When Hawke made a face at her newly-filled mug, Varric chuckled wickedly. "What's the problem, Hawke? I thought you said it was delicious."

She sighed ruefully and gulped down the first half. "I should have known you heard me, even if you didn't look like you were listening," she gasped after she swallowed.

"Best trait a storyteller can have," the dwarf agreed amiably. "I just listen, and fill in the exciting bits later on..." He stopped talking as the blond bartender hurried into the room.

"What can I do for you, Messere Tethras?" Corff said, puffing slightly. Hawke saw Norah was hovering right outside the door, ready to fetch drinks or store up gossip.

"What do you think this is?" Varric held up the metal loop for the man's inspection.

Corff peered at it, and smiled in recognition. "It looks to be part of a still, Messere. A finely crafted one, too. No discoloration or corrosion. Too bad our old brew master drank himself over the wall last year - he could have used it."

"So that's why you never seem to have anything drinkable here anymore," Hawke muttered quietly.

Corff nodded sheepishly at her observation. "Aye, mistress Hawke, all we have now is what's produced by enthusiastic amateurs from market leavings. If we could only find another proper brewer or vintner, we'd have more repeat customers and less cases of the blind staggers."

Hawke jumped up from her chair and snatched the hoop back from the storyteller. "I think I just found my latest quest," she said fervently, and darted past the gaping bartender and the lurking waitress. "Anything will be better than more lichen ale. Take care of distributing the rest of the haul, will you, Varric? I've got an idea, but it might take a while to line up."

Varric thanked Corff and waved Norah in to collect Hawke's mug and refill the pitcher for him. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Sometimes he almost wished ...but it was only a passing fancy. Someday he would find himself a nice, sturdy casteless woman with a wicked sense of humor. It would be a good enough life, if not quite as much fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nightcap**

Later that evening, as she lay spooned against Anders, watching the embers in the fireplace crumble to dark orange and black, Hawke sighed in contentment. She turned her head and kissed the mage gently, but thoroughly.

"Thank you for telling me about Varric, Anders. He was convinced that brotherly betrayal was a dwarven curse of some sort. All I had to do to set him straight was remind him about Sebastian's wonderful home life - such as it was. And then, of course, there was Carver."

She hesitated for a moment, then continued in a low voice. "I feel rotten admitting it, but sometimes I'm almost grateful that he died when he did. A terrible part of me just can't help but wonder - if he had survived, and made it here to Kirkwall with the rest of us - what's to say he wouldn't have turned on Bethany or me?"

Anders was silent for a while, but he tightened his arms around her. "I can't really speak to that, Hawke," he said quietly. "I don't remember my family clearly enough to know whether or not I was close with my siblings. And while I've been betrayed before - it was by frightened peasants bullied into it by templar hunters - not by a... not a family member pushed by jealousy. For the first time, I guess I can consider myself lucky that I was always alone while I was at Kinloch - that I'd never really had anybody I could trust," he finished in a harsh whisper.

"I never apologized to you for what I said about Karl that night, did I?" Hawke said abruptly, realizing what he had almost said. "I didn't know about the rite and the brand then - that's something we'd never encountered in Lothering, and father never mentioned the Tranquil to me. Bethany explained to me later that night that Karl had no choice, but in that first instant, all I could feel was how shocked and horrified you were, and I thought he had set you up."

The mage rose on one elbow and stroked his free hand along her side down to the curve of her hip, exerting a gentle pull to roll her onto her back. He turned his face away for a moment, struggling with the old uncertainty and guilt - feeling it trying to take hold again - but finally he gazed straight at her with haunted eyes, even as he kept stroking her leg, taking comfort from the contact.

"You only said out loud what I was thinking, Hawke. After all we'd been through at Kinloch and all his letters to me - I couldn't believe that Karl was alive and Tranquil. I've told you I would kill myself - I would kill anybody - if they tried to make me Tranquil. But Karl... he _submitted_, he gave up."

Anders shuddered violently, and his hand was motionless on her hip. "I won't lie. Even though I still loved him, I was glad when you told me to end it for him. When he offered me up to the templars, I _hated_ him, Hawke," he admitted in a choked voice, and dropped his head to nuzzle almost desperately at the side of her neck, breath hitching unevenly as he struggled against tears.

As it always did, the sensation of Anders' lips and breath against her throat brought Hawke almost to the point of orgasm, and she struggled to keep her tone even as she tried to reassure her lover. "Maybe he didn't give up, Anders," she whispered, combing the fingers of one hand through his hair, loosened from its customary tie.

"Maybe that bastard Alrik had his thugs grab Karl while he was asleep. Remember, nobody knows exactly how the rite is done; hopefully Karl was unconscious, or drugged, when they made him Tranquil. Given Alrik's penchant for abusing the helpless ..."

She could tell the mage was listening, because his breathing began to slow, and his hand started to move tentatively along the curve of her hip again. "Either way, at the end, he was Karl again, because of you, and you granted him the mercy he asked for," she finished, gasping as his hand moved decisively inward across the top of her thigh and pulled gently, insistently at her leg.

With a purring sound, Hawke spread her legs further apart so he could roll his body to lie between them. She could feel his hardening length twitching against her inner thigh as she ran one foot up along his calf until she could wrap her leg across his narrow hips and pull him tightly against her. She stroked her hands slowly down his back to his waist, then dug into his flanks with her nails, teetering on the edge of release.

"I love you so much, Hawke," the mage whispered fervently. "You always find some way to make it _not_ my fault." Delicately, he suckled on her ear lobe then ghosted a breath across it, before flicking it with his tongue and teasing her with a few gentle bites. When her back arched as she started to come, he was ready and slid smoothly into her, growling deep in his throat as she tightened and spasmed around his cock.

With Hawke's leg and hands holding him so tightly against her, Anders couldn't really thrust, but he was content to roll and grind his hips against her, feeling himself getting harder with each passing second.

Within moments, her whimpering gasps let him know that she was very close again. Abruptly, Hawke slipped her leg off his hips and thrust her arms down against the bed, using the leverage to arch her hips to press up against him as hard as she could.

Anders began to plunge into her without restraint, relishing the feeling of her, the way her face was so flushed with arousal - everything about her, allowing himself to enjoy the moment as he had never dared do with any other lover. With the added sensation from the new angle, Hawke started turning her head from side to side, eyes tightly shut and panting his name with every breath.

With an almost predatory grin, Anders focused the merest trickle of lightning into his left hand. He gave a final thrust and stopped, pressed as deeply into Hawke as he could manage. Bracing himself on his right hand, the mage brushed the fingertips of his left hand across her breasts, up to the hollow at the base of her throat, then across her lips, leaving a tingling trail of stimulation in its wake.

With a keening cry, Hawke came again, pressing upwards against the length of his body before collapsing back on the bed, arms flung loosely across the sheets. He lowered himself fully onto her body, and cupped both hands along the sides of her face so he could kiss her deeply, tasting the last flickers of his power on her lips and tongue.

Slowly, her breathing evened, and eventually Hawke's eyes opened, staring into his own. He felt her lips curve into a smile against his mouth as she chuckled. When he broke the kiss, she whispered, "Pesky mage with your tricks. How am I supposed to compete with _that_?"

Moving carefully to maintain their connection, Anders rolled to one side and then over onto his back, steadying her body with his arms until she was lying astride him. "I'm sure you'll think of someth..." he began, and gasped as she clenched along his length - swiveling her hips slightly to one side and back - then began a gentle rocking motion, back and forth.

"I think I already have," she purred, and smiled down at him with a wicked light in her eyes. "I'm going to take my time with you tonight. I've been learning so _many_ new things..."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** I'm terribly sorry, but the dark angsty bits continue to intrude. Sadly, all of our friends in Kirkwall have serious issues, and a lot of them seem to be coming out in this story. And I think I'll throw in a possible trigger warning - memories can leave scars just as permanent as those from physical wounds. There is also a wildly inappropriate moment of humor – but if you can't laugh, sometimes the only other option is to go insane.

**Bitter Dregs**

The growing light coming in from the windows woke Anders. He stretched lazily, grunting at the way some of his muscles protested. Not painful, really, just ... unusually well exercised, he decided with a languid smile. It was still so new to him - the possibility of being allowed to _stay_ with Hawke when he wanted to, of feeling her presence all night long; lying awake and listening to her breathe, or reaching out just with one foot to touch her calf before drifting off to sleep himself.

He realized that years of conditioning would not be overcome all at once. He admitted sadly to himself that most of the time he was still just _fucking_ Hawke - bringing her off as quickly as possible and then making excuses to leave - too used to hurrying away for fear of discovery and punishment to follow.

That's what had made the night just past so incredible. She had seized the initiative - and gifted him with the kind of release he'd thought impossible. He smiled more broadly as the memory made him stir again. He rolled onto his side, intending to waken her and show his appreciation.

The smile dropped away. She was sprawled face down, tangled in the sheets. Livid bruises in fingertip patterns - interspersed with raw scratches in parallel lines - stood out angrily against the pale skin of her back and upper arms. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and prickled between his shoulder blades. What had he done?

Anders instinctively stretched out one hand towards her, but halted before making contact. The healing blue light gathered in his fingers sputtered and died out. _What are you waiting for? Heal her!_ he raged inwardly, but still the power remained dormant, and his hand did not move - fingers splayed to match the accusing bruises. _Precious Andraste, how many times did I heal marks just like that in Kinloch? What have I __**done**__?_

Saliva started to flood his mouth and he flung himself off the bed, bolting for the door with a hand jammed hard over his mouth. He made it to the garderobe in time - barely. Even after he had vomited, his stomach continued to heave, as his memory replayed the seemingly endless progression of cuts, bruises and even worse inflicted on fragile skin by careless armored hands.

He had no sooner drawn a shaky hand over his mouth - thinking the worst was over - when a new thought struck him, and he began to gag again, this time feeling as though his stomach was starting to tear loose from its moorings. _Do you want her scarred as badly as you, is _that_ it? Are you still afraid that she'll leave you because of the templars' marks you bear?_

Abruptly, his gagging ceased and his head snapped up. He saw the walls of the garderobe through a blue haze.

"**This self-flagellation is foolishness. If you had really desired to harm the woman, you would have attempted it long before now. Of course, had I discovered such a base inclination in you I would never have allowed you to conduct such an unjust act. Heal her so that we can return to the clinic and continue with our purpose."**

The mage was surprised by the hint of compassion in Justice's pronouncement. Still immobilized by the spirit's will, he was able to dispassionately consider what had been said. Great Maker, could Justice be softening in his disapproval of Anders' "obsession"? And of course he hadn't meant to hurt Hawke. What had come over him?

"**Your hatred of the templars gives us both strength and focus. It is necessary. But it is also a poison that detracts from my purity of intention. Her ... influence on you has ameliorated the deterioration considerably. I am therefore forced to judge this 'love' of yours an acceptable condition, and one that needs to continue. But in order for it to be effective, you need to stop fearing it."**

The spirit relinquished control of Anders' body, and he slowly rose to his feet, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. With any luck, he could get back into the bedroom, rinse his mouth and heal her all without waking her. _No, no more running away,_ he thought grimly. _You're going to wake her up and apologize before you heal her._

He pulled the garderobe door open and stepped into the hallway, coming face to face with Leandra. The mage smiled weakly while his stomach fluttered with nerves. _Thank the Maker there's nothing left in it._ So far, he'd always managed to be gone from the estate before she awoke. He was in trouble now for sure.

Only when Leandra's face paled, then flushed as she started shrieking in outrage did he remember that he was naked.

_Oh, Maker's shriveled dick ..._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** Catharsis by proxy. I've never liked Leandra, as anybody familiar with Mundane Magic knows. (This is another occasion where a tiny little plot point in the game resulted in an unexpected revelation in my head canon.) Oh, and apparently Anders' predicament has led to a few spoiled keyboards. _Mea culpa_. And looky here, ya'll - Hawke has a name!

**Maker's Mark**

"Seducer! Apostate! How _dare_ you? It was bad enough always having you around with all those other troublemakers, corrupting Maia and taking her into such danger all the time. But this is... this is completely beyond forgiveness - creeping in here and ruining her, and then parading around like you own the place!"

The first scream snapped Hawke's eyes open. She rolled to her feet, staring around wildly for a moment before her ears and eyes synced up and she realized where she was, and who was yelling - only one person called her Maia. Then she glanced at the bed, and realized just _who_ Leandra's rage was focused upon.

Her first instinct was to rush out to Anders' defense, but she knew it would just make matters worse. Relations between her and her mother had steadily deteriorated over the past few years to the point where Hawke knew the woman would refuse to even listen to her. Besides, Anders would surely be able to charm Leandra. As if to confirm her thought, she heard her lover's voice, muffled but certain, so she began to dress for a foray into Darktown.

"You _love_ her? Don't make me laugh," Leandra's strident voice continued unchecked, weighted with derision and scorn. "Your kind don't even know the meaning of the word, for all you bandy it about. You mages are all alike - preying on impressionable young girls so you can use their family's influence to hide from the templars and the Chantry. The Maker was right to set his mark on mages like you ... you... _maleficar_."

The silence on the other side of the door was almost deafening. Hawke clenched her fists and took one step towards the door, trembling with rage. She could _feel_ Anders' hurt and shock, but her reasoning from before still held true. She would only make it worse, especially now when she was barely able to control herself.

She shook her head. _Enough. I'm done_. She moved purposefully to the armoire against the wall and began pulling out jerkins, leggings, smallclothes and whatever else she could find. As she worked on stuffing them into her largest rucksack she did some quick calculations. There was more than enough coin put aside - she could buy an entire suite for the two of them at the Hanged Man, give Orana a generous severance and let Bodahn and Sandal get back on the road ...

"You arrogant, cold-hearted _bitch_," Anders roared from the hallway. Hawke gasped, and stared over her shoulder at the door, eyes wide.

"Oh, yes, mages are such _terrible_ people. We're to blame for simply everything wrong in Thedas today." His voice dropped to a accusing snarl. "But we're useful, too, aren't we? That silly young man who was escaping from righteous imprisonment in the Gallows - he was the _perfect_ tool to get you away from the unfair drudgery of an arranged marriage, wasn't he? I'll just bet he was dazzled when you turned on the Hightown charm and pleaded for his help.

"But when he didn't sweep you away to a sparkling land of pixies and rainbows where you could be a princess, you realized what a terrible mistake you'd made. There you were, stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mud and dog shit and lowly farmers in a place where your name wasn't worth a damn. You never _loved_ him - he was just a peasant to start with and the magic made him even _less_ than a man, didn't it?

"But you knew you'd have to have children - precious little bargaining chits to get back into Mummy and Daddy's good graces. It must have been so demeaning for you, having to lie with a mage, accepting his _common_ seed until you were sure you'd caught," Anders sneered. "How did you manage to convince him that you enjoyed it enough to get pregnant a second time?"

"Finally, at long last, Andraste heard your prayers - Malcolm was dead and you were free. But there was _still_ a problem, wasn't there? You weren't about to crawl back to Kirkwall as the widow of an apostate without two coppers to jingle in your purse - you needed enough money to get back in style. Luckily, the King's army was recruiting.

"It was simple, wasn't it? Carver and Hawke would join the ranks, and if they lived, their pay would take you home. In the meantime, you could keep Bethany, the shameful secret, hidden in Lothering. I'll wager you even planned on dropping her off at Kinloch on the way - keep all the bad Amell seeds together." Anders' voice faltered for a second, but he rallied quickly.

"So the money began to trickle in, but not enough - never really enough for a successful homecoming. Finally, there was a last campaign, with bonus pay for facing a few darkspawn. But the campaign stretched on, and suddenly it was a Blight, and you ended up running for your lives. An ogre may have actually killed your son, Leandra, but the blame for his death is firmly on _your_ shoulders - not Hawke's.

"All the misfortune in your life has been due almost entirely to your own selfish, shallow nature, _Lady_ Amell. Malcolm Hawke and his magic were the only valuable aspects of that relationship - and his caring resulted in three wonderful, lovable children. Sadly, you could never see the true worth of any of them.

"Bethany has already provided you with a grandson, but according to your standards she's hopelessly tainted, and so is the boy. Which leaves Hawke. You intended for her to become a broodmare for some old man with money and title - the exact same circumstances _you_ ran away from..." The sharp crack of a slap interrupted his voice.

Hawke heard sudden weeping, and erratic footsteps running away, followed by the resounding slam of her mother's bedroom door. She had dropped the rucksack to the floor and was turning towards the door when it was flung open with enough force to rebound off the wall behind it. She leapt forward and caught it before it could swing shut again, staring open-mouthed at the mage.

His face was pale with anger and a small handprint stood out in bright red low on his cheek, but he was able to slant a rueful smile at her. "Good morning, love. Not exactly how I wanted to wake you." He strode into the room and across to the bed, collapsing to sit on the edge of the mattress with his head in his hands. "Oh, Maker, what a bloody _mess_," he groaned.

Hawke pushed the door shut - locking it for good measure - before turning to face Anders. "You..." she squeaked. Irritated, she cleared her throat and tried again. "You ... utterly ... unbelievably ...magnificent, incredibly wonderful _madman_," she finally choked out, desperately trying to decide whether to laugh or cry - and certain she'd end up doing both.

Anders raised his head from his hands and stared at her incredulously. "Hawke, I've just said some of the most vile, hurtful things to your mother..." his brows drew down, and he looked so forlorn that she spoke without thinking, knowing that he was going to find some way to blame _himself_ again.

"Stop it, Anders, just _stop_. Are you serious? After what she called you, how insultingly she's always behaved towards you? You have absolutely _nothing_ to be sorry for. When I heard her say that, I was completely ready to ..." her hands clenched briefly into fists, but she forced herself to relax.

"No, she deserved every word of it, every single damned word," her voice cracked and wavered. "You know she's always blamed me for...for Carver's d-d-death. You've listened to me for so long, letting me get it all out, and now you've finally said everything I never dared ..." she sniffed, and rubbed a quick hand across her eyes before staring at him with an oddly defiant mixture of love, embarrassment, pride and hilarity.

"And by Andraste's flaming ass, you did it _naked_!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** Boy howdy, but it's been a while, hasn't it? Apologies to one and all. Real life reared its ugly head for a while and ... ah, who am I kidding? Smut is HARD! (pun intended). In addition to another attack of Alistair Keyboard™, I just found it very difficult to maintain the balance between fic conventions on ... _ahem_... terminology; keeping it realistic and yet showing how misunderstandings can spring up so easily, and finally, making it hawt. I think I succeeded, but this chapter also had other issues to address, which is why it has a double title. It's a big bruiser, too. But we're over the hump now (heh, there I go again), and some nonsexical action is on the way ...

**One For the Road/Hair of the Dog**

As Hawke spoke, Anders relaxed a bit, and when she finished, he grimaced and nodded wearily. "Well, I suppose with Fenris and Sebastian's constant needling, not to mention your mother's well-known opinions on 'my kind,' I should have gotten used to being sneered at by now," he said resignedly. "But you know as well as I that all of them see my being here as further proof that I'm trying to gain power - they all think I'm using you."

Hawke spluttered angrily, then snorted. "I guess none of them remember the years I spent chasing you until I finally wore down your resistance," she said, shooting him an amused glance, and sighing when he looked away. "So, not that I mind seeing you like _this_," she continued suggestively, trying to keep the tone light, "but you're usually gone when I wake up. How did you end up lecturing my mother in the buff?"

"When I woke up and realized what I'd done to you, I ... felt sick," Anders whispered in shame. "I barely made it to the garderobe in time - I didn't think about grabbing something." Still unable to meet Hawke's gaze, he rose from the bed and crossed to the nightstand to pour himself a mug of water. He rinsed his mouth vigorously and spat into the chamber pot, repeating the process a few more times for good measure and rubbing his forefinger across his teeth. _I should snag some mint leaves from the kitchen_, he thought, beginning to fingercomb his hair into its usual ponytail and fastened it with the leather tie discarded on the nightstand.

"What you had done?" Hawke whispered. "Was it _that_ bad? I hoped you would like it. I thought you did..." her voice trailed off into a sob, and Anders whirled around to see Hawke leaning against the corner post of the bed, cheeks streaked with tears and with a forlorn expression on her face.

"Hawke? Beloved, what's wrong?" He hurried to gather the weeping young woman in his arms and she clung to him - crying desperately, her slender frame shaking with every quiet sob. Anders remembered another time when she had kept herself closed off almost to the breaking point, and repeated the words that had helped before. "Hush, love - I've got you. I'm here."

"You haven't ... not since the lake. You never stay ... I haven't been able to give you ... every time you leave... thought it was because of Karl ... but last night you said you hated him ...tried again and you finally ... but now you say it made you sick to think about it ... what am I doing _wrong_?" she wailed.

"What?" he said, trying to make sense of the flood of fragmented sentences - until Karl's name provided the clue to understanding. "Oh, no. _No_, love. Hawke. My beautiful, wonderful woman," he said softly and started stroking the back of her neck. "It's nothing you've done or haven't done, beloved. And it's certainly not because of Karl. Do you remember - that night in the _aravel_, what I said about not wanting to _use_ you, or cheapen what we had begun?" She nodded jerkily, and he could feel tears running down his torso.

"I've been trying, honestly, but ever since we've been together, each time we've started to make love or even just teased at it I - Maker, this sounds so stupid - Hawke, I've been on the verge of blind _panic_. It's all those years in the bloody Circle - it's just so deeply ingrained; leave no trace; don't betray anything by so much as a word, or a glance or a touch," his voice faltered, aching with memory.

"I've been fighting so hard to overcome that fear," he continued quietly. "Still, every time, I'd find some excuse to leave, and go hide in the clinic - aching for you all over again. But last night you gave me the strength to finally let it go." His voice grew husky with emotion, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Hawke's head. "It was incredible; to finally make love to you and share the release _with_ you, instead of running away once you were sated and asleep. I'm so sorry that all this time I've made you think I didn't want you. I've always wanted you, Hawke." As if to affirm his words, he felt himself stir where his length was pressed between them.

He felt Hawke's arms tighten around his waist, and knew she had felt it, too. Her tears started to slow at last, and she swayed against him, pressing her thigh gently forward. "It was also quite nice to finally able to sleep completely through until morning without waking from another nightmare that templars had come to arrest us both for daring to have sex..." he continued wryly.

"But this morning before I was fully awake - when I saw the marks I'd left on you - they looked too much like what the templars did to ... us ... in Kinloch, and it pulled me right back into the nightmare. I'm sorry, love. It's ... it's just going to take time for me to tell the difference between passion and punishment," he finished, brushing his fingertips lightly over her shoulders, still uneasily aware of what the unbleached linen of her shirt concealed. Now that his apology was made, the healing energy flowed easily through his fingers - ready to erase the bruises and smooth away the scratches.

Hawke raised her tear-streaked face and looked at him with puzzled eyes. "What marks, Anders?" she said around a sniff, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "You didn't - I don't remember any ..." with an impatient sound, Hawke abruptly peeled her shirt over her head and craned her neck to see what he meant.

She caught sight of the bruises circling her upper arms, and traced them slowly with her fingers. Her eyes fluttered almost closed and she made a small sound of pleasure. "Oh, _those_ marks," she said quietly, then smiled slyly up at the mage. "They're kind of like the ones I gave _you_, aren't they?" she whispered, and ran her hands across his hips and waist in a gentle caress, where a series of reddened crescent marks and smaller bruises were still visible.

"Those are different," he started to say, then flushed and shook his head, smiling crookedly at her. "Passion; not punishment ..." he repeated. "But seriously, some of the deeper scratches might prove distracting in a fight. And in Kirkwall, that could be in the next five minutes. Wouldn't you like me to heal them for you?"

"What if I asked you to give me more, instead?" she asked seriously, gazing steadily into his honey-brown eyes. Slowly, she drew her hands forward along his hips, across the taut planes of his abdomen, and then lower, cupping one hand between his thighs to gently cradle him, while she loosely circled the fingers of her other hand around his length and began stroking.

He growled softly, and his fingers flexed involuntarily against her back. "Maker's breath, woman," he husked. "When you ask like that, I have no choice ... but I must insist... _ahhhh_... on two conditions."

Hawke nodded. "Anything for you, Anders. You know that," she replied simply, but her hand didn't stop moving, and he saw the same wicked light was in her eyes as the night before.

"Nothing too onerous, I promise," he said reassuringly. "But Hawke, if I _ever_ do anything that hurts you, or that makes you worried or uncomfortable, please tell me. I can't bear the thought of doing something that will harm you, and yet I was so anxious not to take advantage of you that I lost sight of how I was hurting you in another way.

"Well, I _was_ afraid that I wasn't 'man' enough for you," Hawke drawled mischievously, face slightly flushed, "but that was more an unfortunate combination of my inexperience colliding head-on with your bad memories. It really just boils down to insecurity on my part, Anders; so there's _my_ apology to you. Trust me, if you ever do anything I don't like, I'll be sure to let you know," and she squeezed her hand almost uncomfortably tight around his length for just a moment. "The second condition?"

The mage's face grew serious, but there was a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth that belied his expression. "Would you mind terribly if I called you Maia occasionally? It's such a beautiful name...and 'Hawke' is so harsh..."

Her lips thinned momentarily in an expression of distaste, and she tightened her hand warningly. "You're dangerously close to making me uncomfortable," she said, and her voice had an edge to it. "That's my _mother's_ ideal, not mine."

Anders lifted one hand to cup against her cheek and curled his fingers in a soothing motion. "My Maia ... if you truly don't want me saying it, then I won't," he said wistfully. "But you might consider it a way to start healing old wounds and bad memories..." He studied her face, still brushing his fingers lightly across her cheek, and smiled warmly when she finally nodded once.

"You're right, Anders. It's just always been a reminder of who and what I was 'supposed' to be - not who I _wanted_ to be. It's time I make it my own again. But only you," and she smiled and raised on her toes to breathe in his ear, "and only if you're about to come." She emphasized her words by beginning to stroke him again, drawing a trail of kisses from his ear down along his neck to his chest. "And since you've already said it twice, something needs to be done. Now, why don't you lie down?" she finished with a throaty whisper.

Murmuring in assent, he bent down to kiss her hungrily, and she responded just as strongly, biting gently at his lips and thrusting her tongue into his mouth, twining her tongue with his as he explored her lips in turn. But when he broke the kiss and moved his head lower to nuzzle at her throat, Hawke pulled back, panting slightly, and shook her head.

"No, Anders, not this time. It's my turn to leave _you_ shaking and exhausted for once, so you can just stay away from my neck and ears, thank you very much," she said breathlessly, wagging one finger at him, then running it down his chest towards his navel. "Now please, lie down." She splayed her hand flat on his stomach, and pushed suddenly, overbalancing him backwards onto the bed.

"Hey," he chided, but then he grinned and wriggled backwards to lie fully on the bed - one knee raised and arms crossed behind his head - watching appreciatively as she pulled off her leather leggings and smallclothes. He had no idea what further surprises she had in store for him, but he suspected he was going to enjoy every single second.

* * *

><p>When she was fully undressed, she gazed at him contentedly, and blushed to realize he was staring at her just as avidly. "I don't think I will ever get tired of just <em>looking<em> at you," she breathed, approaching and sitting sideways on the foot of the bed so she could stare up the full length of his lanky frame, breath catching once again at her fortune. The ratty, patched robes of the Darktown healer hid a body that would have started bidding wars at the Rose -pale skin with only a faint dusting of reddish-gold hair on arms, legs and chest, darker and curling between his legs; long smooth muscles and a surprisingly well-defined torso - and it was _hers_.

"But right now I'd much rather _touch_ than look," she purred, and crawled up the bed to lie next to him, draping one leg across his thighs and resting her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, breathing in the warm scent of his skin, and for a moment, she just listened to the steady beat of his heart, smoothing her hand across the planes of his torso. She smiled at the way his pulse began to speed as she brushed her palm across one nipple and gently pinched it to bring it erect. Simultaneously, she turned her head to tongue the other one, sucking it and circling her tongue around it, drawing a quiet gasp from the mage.

After a few moments, she raised her head and smiled in satisfaction. Anders' eyes were heavy-lidded with enjoyment, and his mouth was open just slightly, which she found irresistible. Hawke lifted her hand to his mouth, tracing lightly across the fullness of his lower lip with her fingertips, then chuckled and gasped when he moved his head slightly so he could draw them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the tips. She pulled out slowly against the draw of his suction, then slipped them back in, moaning slightly at the jolts of pleasure that ran from her fingers all the way up her arm every time his tongue moved.

Shortly thereafter, she was panting, aching to cradle his weight on her - _in her_ - or maybe to climb astride him and let him bring her to climax again. _No, that's not supposed to happen yet_, she thought desperately and nipped him on the arm, perhaps a little harder than she meant to. When he yelped and twitched away from her - more in surprise than in pain - she freed her fingers from his opened mouth and quickly trailed them down his torso to slick over his length.

"Bloody Maker, love," he gasped reproachfully. "You could have just asked me to stop." He groaned and inhaled sharply, hips jerking as she teased her palm across his tip - spreading the moisture beading there - then began stroking him slowly, working to bring him erect while still keeping his thighs pinned under her leg.

Confident she had herself under control again, she laughed quietly, and tenderly kissed the spot she had bitten. "Well, it's not as if your little lightning trick is a completely pain-free sensation, you know. Not that it's unpleasant, mind you, but it _is_ rather intense. And since I'm not a mage, I had to improvise. Forgive me?" she said contritely, and kissed his arm again.

"Mmmm-hmmm," Anders agreed, and put his hand over hers, adding a little more pressure to her grip and guiding her to the most pleasurable spots - informing her with moans and gasps when she began moving her hand unerringly to each with only a little prompting. After several minutes of exploration and varying the pace, the mage's hand tightened over hers, and his breathing became hoarse and uneven, while his legs began to twitch and move erratically under her leg as he strained for more friction against their paired hands.

"_Hawke_," he panted in warning.

"Shhhh, love. Not yet," she whispered in reply. "Hold off a little longer, if you can. Now that I've looked and touched, I want to _taste_." His whole body shuddered at the last word and he gave a small gasping cry that was almost a sob, but his hand slipped off hers and slid lower to grasp himself firmly at the base of his erection.

"I'll try..." he gritted as she pushed herself further down the bed and bent her head, warm breath teasing across him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Maia!"<em>

Her hand jerked involuntarily at the sound of the cry, guttural and exultant. The fine chain broke where she'd been gripping it, and with an almost inaudible chime, the slender golden band she had been staring at absent-mindedly for quite some time hit the wooden floor and rolled away, coming to rest under the armoire. Conflicted, she gazed at the dark gap where it had disappeared, debating the wisdom of retrieving it. She briefly considered ringing for the girl, but shook her head. This was not something for a servant to be involved with.

Groaning quietly at the stiffness in her knees and back, she crouched on the floor in front of the armoire and swept a hand underneath it, flinching back briefly at the stab of a splinter in her thumb. She couldn't feel the ring, so she lowered herself onto her stomach, muttering an unladylike curse that would have earned her boxed ears in her girlhood. Of course the Blighted thing had rolled completely back against the wall - and had come to rest in a mixture of dust and fluff. _Gold and trash_, she thought bitterly.

By stretching her arm as far as she could, she was able to get a fingertip through the center and drag the ring out from under, blowing the clinging dust and detritus away with an irritated snort. She stared at the band - thin, almost brassy-looking when compared to the jewelry that had been reclaimed from the family vault. Lying there on the floor, for a moment she remembered ... Abruptly she sat up, and that's when the seam of her sleeve ripped from where it joined the bodice almost to her wrist.

With another barely voiced curse, she struggled back to her feet, angry again. She pulled the broken necklace chain from around her neck with an impatient jerk and tied it through the ring.

* * *

><p>"How do you even have the energy to stand, let alone get dressed?" Anders whispered wonderingly when Hawke finished drinking her mug of water and began to dress again. He tried to roll on his side and flopped back with a contented groan. "I'm half inclined to skip the clinic today, at least until my legs start working again."<p>

Hawke glanced up from lacing her leggings, smiling broadly. "Payback's a mabari bitch, isn't it?" she smirked. "But just think - I still have two 'Maia's' to catch up on - and _many_ more ideas. Have you ever heard of an Antivan Milk Sandwich?"

"Maker's balls, Hawke!" the mage spluttered in shock, but he was grinning. "Granted, as a Grey Warden, I have quite a lot more stamina than your average mage, but I think I'd better get up now before you strain it past recovery... how about tonight?"

The next few minutes passed with a mixture of teasing and giggling as he started dressing and she threatened to remove each piece of clothing again. At one point, however, he accidentally caught her on one of the newly acquired scratches on her side, and she hissed sharply. "All right, I must ask again - how do you feel about my offer of healing now, love?" the mage asked, extending his hand palm up, cupping a small globe of blue energy.

"Let me think about it," Hawke replied archly, and started pulling her shirt on. "You can heal me just as easily at the clinic, and I think I want to get both of us out of here before I do something irrevocable, like throw Leandra out of _my_ estate and tell her to go live with Gamlen again... besides, I have an errand in Darktown - a new quest," she finished dramatically. "A quest to save lives, or at least livers ... What?" she said sharply when her head poked out of the neck of her shirt and she saw Anders looking rather unsettled.

"You wouldn't _really_ do that, would you? Send her back to Lowtown to live in that hole?" he asked placatingly. "You have to admit it must have been pretty unsettling for Leandra to run into a naked man coming out of the garderobe first thing in the morning - and after the harsh dose of truth I gave her - that's a pretty good punishment, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe," Hawke admitted grudgingly, "but let's just say I've been considering it more and more seriously. And it's not just because of this morning, either. Do you know she's actually been making noises about offering my hand to _Saemus_?" Her voice rang with disbelief as she mentioned the young man's name, and Anders muffled a laugh at her indignation as she pulled on the chest guard of her armor and slammed her daggers into their sheaths with angry stabbing motions.

"The first year we were here, she hardly ever stirred out of Gamlen's place, because she couldn't bear the thought of anybody who knew her from before seeing her in such 'reduced circumstances,' but now that my money has gotten her back to Hightown circles, the sky's the limit. It was embarrassing enough when she kept trying to catch the Viscount's eye, but she still hasn't given up hope of advancing the Amells..." Hawke sighed in exasperation and smiled ruefully at Anders. "And now I've let her ruin a wonderful morning twice, haven't I? Shit, just kiss me and let's go, all right?"

* * *

><p>Leandra was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and Orana, Bodahn and Sandal were nowhere to be seen. Hawke stopped for a beat, and she reached out almost unconsciously to clasp Anders' hand. The warmth and strength of his fingers twined through hers was reassuring, and she continued down the steps at a deliberate pace, with the mage moving next to her.<p>

As they descended, Anders searched Leandra's expression for a clue of what to expect, but her face was as emotionless as that of the golden Andraste in the Chantry. Her eyes flickered briefly from Hawke to him, then back to her daughter. So, he was to be invisible for this, was he? He squeezed Hawke's hand, and smiled faintly at a sudden memory. He'd tell her later, he decided.

When she reached the bottom step, Hawke started to walk past Leandra as if she wasn't there, and Anders saw a tiny twitch mar the woman's smooth features for an instant.

"Maia," Leandra said quietly, and Hawke paused, shoulders stiff with tension. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the older woman, and raised one eyebrow, waiting. Abruptly Leandra's calm mask broke and her mouth trembled a bit. "You look so much like him," she whispered, but then her expression stilled again, and Anders could tell the moment was lost. "I'm sorry, Maia," Leandra said evenly. "I saw you were making the same mistake I did. I only wanted you to have everything I threw away."

Anders could feel Hawke's hand trembling in his, and he held his breath, wishing he was, indeed, invisible for this confrontation. Hawke tilted her head, raised her other hand to her face, and put one finger on her lips as if contemplating Leandra's statement.

After a moment, she smiled at her mother, but it was merely a humorless baring of her teeth. "You know, after considering what living in this rotten city has cost our family, I think that whatever it is you think you 'threw away' wasn't worth having in the first place. Now, if you'll excuse us, we've business to attend to in Darktown."

She stalked towards the front door and Anders followed quietly, trying to send love and support through their linked hands. They had just entered the foyer when he heard Leandra's choked voice. "Anders, please ... a word?" Hawke stopped and for a moment he could _feel_ it through her hand, as if she was willing him to ignore the plea, but then her shoulders relaxed a bit, and she let go of his hand.

"I'll just wait outside," she said quietly and slipped through the door into a flood of golden light. The mage fought down a sudden mad impulse to flee after her, and instead returned to the main hall. He stopped within a few paces of Leandra. The woman's face was stiff with anger and disappointment ... and a trace of fear.

_Well, say something._ "Leandra, I'm sorry for what I said earlier. But regardless of whatever else I may have said in anger, please believe me when I tell you that I do love your daughter - with all my heart. I'd tried to deny it ever since we met, but ..." he sighed and shook his head. "She's everything to me."

"I know, I know," Leandra replied wearily, raising one hand. "And she's besotted with you. But what happens to her when the templars finally take you? Will you condemn her to share the noose with you? Her name and her money won't protect either of you forever, surely you realize that."

Anders gazed at her steadily, and she recoiled a bit at what she saw in his eyes. "If anyone ever tries to harm her, they will die," he said simply, and turned to leave.

"Then I only have one more thing to say to you," she said, and Anders paused, pained by the note of defeat in her voice. She raised her hand, and opened it to reveal a ring on a broken length of chain. "This was my wedding ring. It's not much - it may not even be pure gold, but Malcolm made it himself and ... it meant something, once. If you ever do marry her, use it." She held out her hand, offering it to him.

Gently, he reached out and picked up the chain, draping it across his palm so he could look more closely at the ring. He felt something from it, a whisper of power passed down from a kindred spirit. Intrigued, he brushed one fingertip across the edge of the circle, and the image of a man with curly black hair sprinkled liberally with gray sprang into his mind. The man was smiling, and Anders felt a warm peace settle over him. "Malcolm," he breathed, and looked up with a brilliant smile.

Leandra was gone. Disappointed, but not really surprised, he took the ring off the broken chain and reached into the neck of his robe, catching hold of the leather thong on which he had strung the Tevinter Chantry amulet Hawke had given him. He quickly picked out the knot in the ends of the thong and threaded the ring so that it would lie underneath the amulet, hidden against his chest. _Someday, Leandra. I promise I will use it._

He retied the thong and tucked its doubly-precious burden down the front of his robe once again, and hurried to the door. He agreed with Hawke. It was time to get to Darktown. As soon as he opened the door, she pounced on him.

"Well? I didn't hear any yelling..." she said, scanning his face as if looking for another mark and smiling in relief when she saw that he was unharmed.

"No, nothing bad. Your mother ... apologized, as much as she was able," Anders temporized. "Believe it or not, she is concerned about you," he added, when Hawke rolled her eyes.

"Huhn, well, I'm sure she'd hate to see the cash cow killed," Hawke answered flippantly, and Anders wisely let it go, merely bending to kiss her softly before they left the shelter of the entryway.

"You know," he said, changing the subject, as they came out into the early-morning bustle of servants and nobles in the square, "the people here - they never leave Hightown. They have no idea what's brewing beneath them."

For some reason, that made Hawke laugh, which he took as a good sign. "But speaking of which, before we head to Darktown, shouldn't we stop by the Keep?" he asked with a straight face. At her puzzled look, he calmly explained, "Well, now I'm supposed to go slap Aveline on the ass, don't you remember?"

Heads turned as they headed out into the crowd, because Hawke could not stop laughing, and neither could he.

* * *

><p><strong>Musical notes: <strong>These have been cooking in the back of my head for a while, now.

For Hawke after "Dissent" until Anders finally comes around, I picture "Call Me, Call Me," from Cowboy BeBop (I think Seatbelts is the name of the band...).

For Anders, when he finally does come to Hawke's room, it's definitely "Nights, Winters, Years" by The Blue Jays (offshoot of the Moody Blues).

For this chapter, for both Hawke and Anders - "Flames" by V.A.S.T. If you can listen to the lyrics and the song without tearing up at all - well, I feel sorry for you. It's the essence of love.

And finally, although we have a long way to go until I address it - for both Hawke and Anders again, post-Chantry - "Hollow" by Godsmack. Enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** I'm sure you've heard the saying: "No good deed goes unpunished." Sadly enough, not everyone in Kirkwall likes seeing the lot of the Fereldans improved. And it's been a while since I've done an action scene. (Get your minds out of the gutter!)

**Red Red Wine**

As they made their way through the Hightown market, Hawke paused at a few stalls to greet merchants and get a feel for what was selling and what items she should bring back from the Hanged Man. She shared a secretive smile with Anders - the "Fereldan Freedom Fund" was growing slowly enough, but every sovereign they could stow away in the hidden storage room in the estate cellar was one more step towards sending another refugee home to Ferelden, or resettling a rescued mage in an obscure village somewhere.

She lingered at Korval's weapons shop, eyeing the two-handed variety and paying extra attention to the mauls and hammers. "A bit excessive, don't you think?" Anders commented facetiously. "If you're still worried about me leaving in the middle of the night, I mean..." Hawke tilted him a knowing look that made his legs go weak.

"I don't think I need a weapon anymore to make sure you're in no condition to leave," she muttered suggestively. "No, I'm just debating getting one of these for Fenris and _ordering_ him to use it. I'm bloody well not going to buy him any more swords - not when he seems to make it a point of honor to try and cleave anybody in his path in two. He's ruined too many blades on rock floors and bones. A hammer, though ... they're already blunt."

"A perfect match for him, then." The mage managed to keep his expression neutral, but Hawke heard the cutting edge in his voice, knowing full well how the two detested each other. More and more often lately, she'd found herself thinking that maybe she should look into finding a mercenary, or hiring one of Aveline's guardsmen instead, and just let the bitter elf go his own way. Fenris was a damned good fighter - even Anders agreed to that - but his unrelenting disdain for anything to do with magic had rapidly gone from an understandable loathing of his old master to a grating refrain that had many of her companions distancing themselves from forays that included the irascible elf. Even when she reminded him about Bethany during one of his blanket condemnations of mages, there would be a noticeable pause before he issued an insincere apology.

He had seemed to relax slightly when Isabela had finally overcome his objections and bedded him a few years back, but his growing friendship with Sebastian had negated _that_ relationship entirely, as far as Hawke could tell. She wished she'd realized how completely the former prince had chosen to immerse himself in the Chantry - both physically and in doctrine - before she'd encouraged the man to try engaging the ex-slave's insatiable hunger for knowledge. Now Fenris was following Sebastian's lead in almost everything, although whether through true belief in Chantry doctrine, or as further justification of his hatred of mages was anybody's guess.

Well, Hawke thought tiredly, she'd given everybody else second and even third chances, so she'd do the same for Fenris. "True enough, but, unfortunately, we still get enough of the grunt jobs that we need him along," she said aloud. "It's harder and harder to convince Aveline to come along at all anymore - it's like she's married to the Guard now...

"She'd like to be ... one of them, at least," Anders muttered snidely, and Hawke nudged him sharply with one elbow.

"Anyway, he's getting a hammer, and he'll bloody well use it," she said decisively, and turned to the vendor. "How much for the one with the spike in the butt?" she asked the dwarf, and elbowed Anders again when he snickered at her inadvertent double entendre.

"That's a good eye for weaponry, serah," the vendor replied smoothly. "Especially if the one wielding it is more used to combat with a blade - a good pommel strike with that end will do the job almost as well as a sword. That particular weapon is a recent addition to our stock - the smith has been experimenting a bit with different ores and materials, which makes it a touch hard to sell in more 'traditional' quarters such as Orzammar."

Hawke nodded patiently. "So they ship it topside to see how well the surfacers like it first?" At the dwarf's answering nod, she added pointedly, "Right, how much for the weapon _with_ the freight charges added on?"

The dwarf stroked his luxuriant white beard and looked at Hawke appraisingly. "Do you have more salvage to trade?" he asked shrewdly. "If it's of good enough quality to warrant repair, I could cut you a deal - say two sovereigns twelve instead of the flat five I was recommended ..." he trailed off questioningly.

"Done," she replied, sticking out one hand. "I'll make sure Varric sends you the lot before noon. Tell you what - I'll make it three sovereigns even if you'll sent a runner to the old magister's mansion with a note." The dwarf hesitated fractionally as he was reaching to shake her hand, but clasped it anyway and sealed the deal. "I'll try and find someone who doesn't believe it's haunted," he said dubiously.

He hurried off while Hawke pulled a piece of much scraped and reused vellum out of her belt pouch and flattened it on the stall's plank table. With a snort, Anders reached into his pouch and handed her a tiny bottle of ink and the short-nibbed quill he used to give instructions to the more educated of his patients. "So, I take it the reading lessons have worked?" he inquired.

"More or less," Hawke agreed with a chuckle as she scribbled her message: _Fenris, meet me at the Hanged Man by nine bells. Something to discuss. Hawke._ "Sebastian took over when I begged him to - otherwise there would have been bloodshed for sure. Fenris was being just as pig-headed about learning to read as he is about most other things - and I wasn't all that fond of sitting in a musty, cobwebby room with a drunken elf muttering at me in Arcanum when he couldn't figure out a word ... I just wish Sebastian would use additional sources besides the Chant. I'll have to remind Fenris that I gave him Shartan's book for a reason - and point out how shabbily the Chantry has treated elves ever since Andraste's time."

"I guess it's asking too much to wonder if he'll finally start to see reason ..." Anders muttered quietly.

"Probably," Hawke agreed brusquely, "but there's always hope. It's not like he's stupid. There _is_ a brain behind all the brooding and self-righteousness. And he's been exposed to the Qun, which is helpful in several ways..." she stopped abruptly as Korval approached with a young dwarf in tow. Even though most surface dwarfs still technically believed in the Stone and the Ancestors and didn't really concern themselves with the beliefs of humans, it wouldn't do to be overheard spouting Qunari-friendly opinions - especially in Hightown.

She creased the parchment in half and handed it to the messenger. "You know where you're taking this?" she asked, grinning when the youth gulped and nodded nervously.

"To the angry elf at the haunted mansion," he replied, eyes wide. The mage and the rogue exchanged a fleeting look, and Hawke shook her head at the glint in Anders' eyes.

"Just be sure you knock first - and don't make any sudden moves," she said reassuringly. "You'll be fine. Korval - make sure he gets the extra silver as payment, all right?" She opened her purse and pulled out the gold and silver coins and passed them to the merchant.

He put the messenger's portion in a small pouch and left it on the table. "Aye, I'll do that - as long as your trade goods show up on time, and the lad makes it back in one piece," he agreed sourly, clearly disappointed that he wasn't going to be taking the extra coin for himself. "Here now, the sooner you leave, the sooner you'll have the coin, boy," he barked, and the younger dwarf turned and headed reluctantly towards upper Hightown.

Grinning unpleasantly, Korval then gestured the petite woman forward to take the hammer, obviously enjoying the thought of watching her struggle with the heavy weapon, but Anders stepped up and shouldered it with a small grunt, scooting it back and forth for a few seconds until he had it balanced. The weapon dealer frowned for a moment, then gave the mage a nod of grudging approval and waved them away.

"Are you sure you're a mage?" Hawke murmured impishly, stealing appreciative glances at her lover as they descended the seemingly interminable flights of stairs to Lowtown. Of course, his staff was strapped to his back in its usual place, but the head of the warhammer he was carrying so nonchalantly completely obscured it. Granted, his coat was more like mage robes than armor, but with his height, Anders could easily pass for a warrior. She checked at the thought, and she was speaking before she could stop herself.

"Anders, let's just _leave_. We could go to Ferelden, be mercenaries in the Anderfels - find a village too small for a chantry. Let's get _away_ from this Void-cursed place. We have the coin. We could do it..." she trailed off as Anders shook his head, smiling down at her with a wistful light in his eyes.

"As tempting as that is, Hawke, do you remember what you told me when I tried to run away - after the - well, you know, _after_?" he finished awkwardly. "You called me a selfish bastard, and said there were still too many refugees and mages who needed my help. Then you hit me." His smile became rather lopsided as he remembered how angry and frightened both he and Hawke had been on that emotionally strained day.

She stopped, blushed guiltily and looked away, staring blindly out over the clustered roofs of the lower city. "Of course I remember," she sighed after a few seconds. "It was horrible - and something for which I'll never forgive myself." Her shoulders straightened slightly. "But Anders, I was frantic - I would have said anything - done anything to make you stay, because even if you hated me for it, you would still be _here_. I couldn't ... I just couldn't face living in this horrible place without you."

Anders' breath caught, and he swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. "Nor could I," he whispered, reaching out with one hand to touch her shoulder and turn her back to face him. "Thank the Maker that we're both so bloody stubborn. But your desperation didn't invalidate the truth of what you said, love. Even now, there are still people who need help - yours as well as mine. All I do is heal them, Hawke. You give them _hope_. And there's still more that needs to be done - by both of us." The note of determination in his voice made her smile at last when she looked up at him.

"Well, I can't employ every single one of them at the Bone Pit," Hawke said facetiously, "and the Guard is full up. We've just got to find a way to resettle more of them back in Ferelden, where they belong. Surely there are empty farms and villages in the Bannorn that need people. Maybe I should try to get word to my cousin - she's married to the new King, after all. And supposedly _he_ declared Ferelden's Circle independent of Chantry oversight. If only there was some way of just cracking the damned Gallows open like a treasure chest and making off with all of the mages at once..." she shook her head and sighed gustily.

"Well there is - an idea" Anders started to reply. "I mean, that _would_ be convenient, wouldn't it?" he finished quickly, thanking the Maker he'd never told Hawke about Dworkin and his explosives. "But for now, we'll just keep on as we've begun, right?"

"Damned right," she agreed, and grabbed his hand, setting off at a quick pace down the stairs. "And I've kept us talking too long as it is. We need to swing by the Hanged Man and drop Fenris' hammer off with Varric, you've got to get to the clinic, and I've got to look up a certain dwarven craftsman I've heard rumors about. I couldn't find him yesterday afternoon, but I did some checking, so I think I know where he'll be today, at least. Once I've spoken with him, I'll swing back by to check on your supply situation, all right?"

"That sounds like a busy day," Anders noted. "I'll take you up on the supplies, however. I think I'm still doing all right on bandages and linens, but I'm definitely running low on lyrium. Justice is starting to question the necessity of his involvement in every healing, so I've had to use more of it recently. I've tried explaining to him how hard it is to find a reliable source of it in potion form, but he doesn't understand why that means I need his power instead. Besides, even though Sol is a decent sort, I hate the idea of filling the templar's coffers any further," he concluded grimly.

"Perhaps we should make another trip out to Sundermount - the Dalish seem to be able to procure it fairly easily. And maybe we could go _alone_ again," Hawke said eagerly, with a shy smile for the mage as they finally reached the Lowtown market.

"I'd like that," he said warmly, and squeezed her hand tight.

* * *

><p>"But why do I have to keep it <em>here<em>?" Varric groused, staring glumly at the hammer that Anders had dropped unceremoniously in the middle of his table.

"Because Fenris will be slightly less inclined to make a scene if there are plenty of witnesses around," Hawke said smugly. "Especially at nine bells, because that's when Aveline brings the patrol through to check up on you and Isabela. Besides, she agrees with me on proper care and treatment of weaponry, and Fenris respects her on that front."

"More like he's terrified, just like the rest of Kirkwall," Varric muttered, then raised one hand in a placating gesture when Hawke cocked an eyebrow at him. "Fine, fine. Have it your way, Hawke. But how am I supposed to get all of this," the storyteller waved at the salvaged weaponry and armor piled against the wall, "up to Korval's and still be back here in time to see the happy smile on his face when you give it to him?"

"I find it hard to believe that _all_ of your runners are out already this morning," Hawke said blandly. "Send it with one of them - and make sure they know to get a receipt."

Defeated, the dwarf sighed and made a show of draining his ever-present mug of dwarven ale. "Honestly, Hawke, I think I should turn over all the Tethras business holdings to you - you seem to have an unnatural knack for making people do exactly what you want." He gave Anders a knowing look, and grinned when both the mage and the rogue colored.

"Well, you two lovebirds should get going - especially if you plan on being back here by nine - because eight's long past." Then Varric's expression grew serious. "And both of you, please do your old friend Varric a favor and be careful down there today, all right? Rumor has it that there's been yet another shake-up in the senior ranks of the Coterie, so more than likely some new lieutenant is looking for some way to make their reputation. The old guard knew better than to stir up trouble in the south end - but evidently they're not around to make that distinction anymore."

* * *

><p>"Shit," Anders said quietly as they topped the staircase. Both doors to the clinic were wide open, and the normal gathering of squatters and refugees was ominously absent. The dull <em>slap-hiss<em> of a crossbow being fired echoed off the rough-hewn walls. Instinctively, Anders ducked, and at his side Hawke made a huffing noise.

"Anders," she said in a breathless, puzzled voice, and he jerked his head around just in time to see her drop to the ground - the vanes of a bolt sticking out of her armor just above the inner curve of her left breast.

"No!" he shouted and dropped to his knees beside her, heedless of his own danger. Dimly, he heard shouting, and the sounds of running footsteps and breaking glass from the clinic, but all he could focus on was the shockingly red blood welling up from the hole in her armor - and spreading too rapidly from under her motionless form. He cupped his palms over her breast, careful to avoid touching the shaft of the bolt, which was twitching in time with her heartbeat. Anders closed his eyes and triggered the healing energy in a blaze of blue light that lit the stone ceiling above, chasing the shadows away.

"Void-brained fool," somebody yelled angrily. "I said to take her _alive_ - there's no ransoming a corpse. Shit! Where's the damned dust drinker? Get him out here before the cursed robe goes off on us!"

"Piss on that," growled another voice. "I'm out of here. No way this'll go unanswered. They've got friends."

"Don't be stupid," the first man barked. "We take him out, and the whole south side is ours. Besides, she was dealing with Carta scum. This'll keep them out of our territory for good. If you turn tail, I promise you there's nowhere in Kirkwall I won't find you. We finish it now."

Unsettling laughter scattered off the stone and rubble, interrupting the argument, and a raspy baritone voice lilted drunkenly, "Drowning in dust, downing the dust, better than lust or the sun. Maker, but it's been so long since I've felt so good. Oh-ho, there's the magic man and his interfering bitch. Always lording it over us as has nothing, judging me for trying to get by. Watch this, Corren - you'll see I'm worth every silver - and all the dust I can drink!"

"**Defend yourself or we shall all be lost."** Justice tried to wrest control of Anders' power and turn it to offensive capability, but the mage shrugged him off and kept trying to seal the gaping tear in Hawke's heart around the shaft of the crossbow bolt, until the struggle was ended by an erratic explosion of raw force. Justice was rendered silent and impotent and Anders' healing light abruptly winked out, stripped from him as if it had never been.

He howled in denial. Frantically, he dragged her limp body up off the ground and held her against his shoulder, staggering to his feet and breaking into a shuffling trot towards the only refuge he could think of. With one hand, he fumbled in his belt pouch, and touched upon cool metal just as he reached the door to the estate cellar. With a wordless prayer to Andraste, he shoved the key in the lock and forced the door open.

"He's getting away, you lyrium-addled bastard. Do something!" the Coterie man shouted, and there was a brief pause followed by the sound of more shattering glass. Anders heard pounding footsteps and heavy breathing approaching. He slipped through the opening and pivoted to slam it shut, just as a sword blade whispered past his face, clipping his hand and shearing off the key in the lock. With a snarled curse, the mage gave a final push on the heavy door, and it swung to, sealing them in. A wave of nausea swept over him as the templar on the other side belatedly released a smite which was just as powerful and erratic as the cleansing had been.

Retching, he eased Hawke's motionless form to the floor, then propped her in a sitting position against the wall, wincing as he heard the tip of the bolt grate against the masonry. He felt the shift in her weight as her head lolled bonelessly forward on her neck. Chilled, he raised her head with one palm to her forehead and pressed the fingers of his other hand to the pulse-points on either side of her throat. At first he thought it was the shock of the doubled attack he'd just weathered, but after a few seconds he realized the truth. Her heart had stopped. She was gone.

He threw back his head and screamed until his throat was raw.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** Fair warning. In this chapter, I begin to veer pretty durn far away from Bioware canon, sowing my own seeds for events and actions occurring later on that just made no sense to me as originally set forth in the game. I also fully expect to be reviled by any devout Andrasteans who chance to be reading this! ;-P

Further, while party banter occasionally addresses the matter of character death in a battle, the whole thing is rather anti-climactic - just wait for the fight to be over and hey, look, that individual was just "knocked unconscious" or "it was only a flesh wound." Frankly, I think reviving a character should involve a little more effort than just sprinkling them with Mythal's Favor or acting like a mime lifting a heavy weight. _(Yeah, meee-ow, but admit it - that's exactly what it looks like!)_ Finally, if you'd like to grieve with Anders, might I suggest _Forever Autumn_ by Justin Hayward?

**Body Shots**

He couldn't tell how long he had sat unmoving in the dark with Hawke's body cradled in his arms. The muffled shouts and thudding of fists and blades against the door had ceased after a time, but whether the Coterie thugs had given up or were merely waiting in ambush again made no difference to him. Hawke had been taken from him, and he couldn't get her back. His last words to Leandra circled and twisted through his mind, mocking him.

Earlier, he had lifted one hand in an attempt to summon a wisp - just the smallest and simplest of magics - to see if his power had recovered yet, but nothing happened. He'd never been so thoroughly drained, even during punishment in the holding cells of Kinloch. There had been something fundamentally wrong with that templar's attacks, he though dully. He felt _wounded_, damaged in a way he'd never experienced before.

Blood still seeped slowly from the cut in his hand, leaving tacky trails that stuck his shirt to his arm. What did it matter? With every breath he took, the tip of the bolt that had transfixed his lover and destroyed her heart snagged on the sleeve of his coat, fraying the worn leather further. It was just one more small detail to be ignored.

He pressed his lips to her forehead and hugged her body closer, shutting his eyes against the blackness surrounding him. All that mattered was that once again he was alone and powerless in the dark - powerless to save Maia, just as he'd been powerless to save Karl, just as he'd always been powerless in the face of the templars.

"**_Not exactly powerless. There _is_ a way to save her."_**

* * *

><p>Aveline had already been and gone, declaring that her patrol schedule was too full to wait for Hawke to get back from another one of her charity missions. After she left, Varric and Fenris had quickly exhausted their supply of small talk, and now sat staring at each other over the hammer still occupying the middle of the dwarf's table, waiting with growing impatience for Hawke to show up.<p>

"I could order some wine for you while we're waiting," Varric suggested tentatively, slightly disconcerted by the strange expression that crossed the elf's face every time he glanced at the weapon.

Fenris looked up with a slight smile. "And here I have spent the past few years thinking you were my friend, Varric. I would sooner go back to Danarius than drink anything from here that claims to be wine. Besides, it is much too early in the morning for _me_ to start drinking."

"You wound me, elf," Varric drawled, making a show of sipping some of his dwarven ale with relish. The candles flickered slightly, and they both heard the main door of the tavern being flung open, followed by the sound of running footsteps and cursing. A chorus of protests rose from downstairs, and suddenly a voice was lifted in a shout.

"Tethras! Come quick - there's been trouble..." They exchanged glances and stood, chair legs scraping loudly across the floor. A sallow, dark-haired youth appeared in the doorway to Varric's suite, panting and wild-eyed. "At the clinic... ambush..."

"How bad?" Fenris rapped out, brands flaring involuntarily. After one startled glance, the runner shook his head and turned back to Varric.

"Dozen or so Coterie ... they'd killed a few of the refugees to get into the clinic ... didn't dare get closer to see more... but I could hear the mage screaming all the way up the lift..." The young man looked as if he was about to cry. "Maker help me, I'll not be forgetting _that_ sound any time soon."

Varric pivoted and yanked Bianca from her place of honor. "I _told_ them, damnit - but did they listen? Of course not," he growled to cover his anxiety - taking refuge in the flow of words. "And of course Aveline's long-gone with her squad, not that she'd risk them in Darktown," he continued sarcastically. "Fenris, get Isabela. Shake her ass out of bed and bring her as fast as you can. Let's go," he snapped at his runner, and headed for the stairs.

* * *

><p>"Justice?" Anders whispered, opening his eyes in sudden hope, for the first time almost desperate for the blue light of the Fade spirit to cloud his vision, but he still saw nothing save the blackness of the Amell cellar.<p>

"**_Is _that_ what he calls himself now? Appropriate, I suppose. No, I am not he. That one is ... wounded. Resting. No help will be forthcoming from that quarter for quite awhile, I'm afraid - at least not in time to make a difference. But I am willing to help - for the proper incentive."_**

"Never, demon," Anders rasped painfully, shivering in realization and suddenly aware of the blood trickling down his arm. "I will _not_ use blood magic, not even to save her. Sod off." _Forgive me, Maia. I can't_, he cried silently.

"_**Blood magic? Don't be foolish. She's well past saving through such crude means, even if yours is some of the most powerful I've ever scented. Her spirit has been separated from the flesh too long."**_

"Then ... what do you want?" Anders asked reluctantly, cursing his weakness. But if there was a means to revive her ... merely asking was not the same as agreeing, after all - Hawke did it all the time. "Wounded or not, Justice and I are still joined. You cannot possess me to use as a conduit into the physical realm."

"_**Again, your thinking is limited by lack of knowledge. What use have I for a poisoned human shell when my physical form already exists? It is only the puerile teachings of your Chantry that has the Beyond populated by purely spiritual beings. It was not always so - once we walked the land side by side with the ancestors of humanity, until the children of the Creators banished us to the Beyond."**_

"That's heresy," Anders replied automatically. "The spirits in the Fade are the first children of the Maker."

"_**How tiresome you humans can be. Orthodoxy is always established by the victor; and anything to the contrary is deemed heretical. The Fade, as you call it, is a prison, nothing more. The floating city the Andrasteans have claimed as the Black City - the defiled home of their 'Maker' - is nothing more than the memory of Arlathan as it was when my people destroyed it. But if you would rather argue comparative theology instead of restoring your lover, I am amenable."**_

Anders swallowed, and pressed another kiss to Hawke's cold forehead. _I'm mad to even consider this, dear heart, but I know you'd do something equally as mad for me, without hesitation._ He raised his head, staring unflinchingly into the darkness. "All right de-... spirit. Tell me what you propose."

* * *

><p>"Not that it's any business of yours, but yes, I <em>have<em> been sleeping with him occasionally in exchange for a blind eye turned to some of the more questionable things Hawke and her friends - you included - get up to from time to time," Isabela was whispering angrily as she and Fenris caught up to Varric and his runner just around the corner from the entry hall to Anders' clinic. It was quieter than usual in the Undercity - most of the voices and normal clatter had been replaced by a frightened silence. The dwarf shot her an irritated glare, and she stopped talking, favoring Fenris with a final cutting look. His face was set in lines of anger and disappointment.

Varric drew a conclusion from the elf's expression and what he had overheard. He might even have grinned if he hadn't been so worried. _Could be the Choirboy hasn't converted him completely - at least when it comes to celibacy and forgetting Isabela. Maybe there's hope for him yet._

"Sorry to take you away from your diplomatic affairs, Rivaini," the storyteller breathed, "but we have a really bad situation here, and your talent for sneakiness is exactly what we need right now." He turned to his runner, still speaking as quietly as he could. "You get back up to Lowtown, or Hightown - wherever - and find Aveline. Get her down here, with a full complement of guards. Tell her Hawke's in big trouble - that'll light a fire under that iron-plated ass." The youth nodded grimly and hurried away, obviously relieved to be headed away from the area.

"Isabela, we've _got_ to know what we're facing here," Varric whispered in her ear. "My man said there was an ambush at the clinic - probably close to a dozen Coterie - climbing the ranks and out to prove themselves. They've already killed some of the refugees, and nothing's been heard of Hawke or Anders. I need you to take a look and see where they're placed, what they've got in the way of weaponry, and if they've got any mages."

She smiled cockily and sidled away, melting into the shadows and seeming to disappear within a few feet. As soon as she was gone, Varric drew Bianca from over his shoulder and began to check through his bolts, trying to decide which ones to load and working as quietly as he could.

"We were close enough to the Alienage," Fenris muttered. "We should have collected the witch instead. At least she would be useful against another mage." He had brought the hammer along as well as his sword, and looked as if he was ready to spring into battle wielding both weapons. His brands were flaring erratically, and Varric could tell he was just as worried as he himself was.

"Andraste's tits, Fenris! There's no way I'd risk that little girl down here," Varric hissed. "It's bad enough not knowing what's happened to Hawke. And if you can't get yourself under control and stop lighting the place up we might as well just start shouting now. We won't be of any help to Hawke if we get ourselves killed." His voice had gotten a bit louder as he spoke, and he bit his lips shut, angry as much with himself as with Fenris. _Damn it Hawke, you'd better be all right._

The elf's silvery brows drew down over his eyes, hooding the brilliant green. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, looking like a jungle cat about to spring, but he finally closed his eyes and bowed his head. The lyrium brands damped out. His whole body remained taut as a bowstring, however, and his hands were clenched in trembling fists on the handles of both weapons. _"Adsum, amor,"_* he whispered.

* * *

><p>"Well, how do I save her?" Anders asked impatiently, when the spirit did not reply immediately. He felt cold sweat start on his back and forehead. Had he finally gone mad from his loss and just imagined the whole conversation?<p>

"_**Allay your fears, mage. I was merely ... making sure she was still where she had cast herself. Your lover is in a pocket of the Beyond - a memory of a place she felt safe and happy. I will ensure she remains there instead of traveling ... further. Once you have the capability, you can venture there and reunite spirit with flesh - if she is willing. The Beyond is mutable, after all, and the dream she has created for herself may become more tempting than a return to this world."**_

"How long do I have?" Anders asked nervously. "My magic was badly drained, and if Justice is still gone, it may be a day or more before I can summon enough energy to enter the Fade without resorting to lyrium. And it would help if I knew what memory to look for."

"_**I make no guarantees, but I would think that a day is not beyond reason. As for her dream - it is currently dark, but it was lit by a blue fire that was not lyrium... More than that, I do not know. Now, as to my payment ..."**_

Anders swallowed noisily, but his resolve remained strong. "I am listening..." he said quietly. _Maker, Andraste, flames and mercy - I know where she is!_ he thought with a pang of excitement.

"_**As happened to so many of my kind, my physical form was transmuted into stone - a mocking effigy of my former glory - when my spirit was banished to the Beyond. The separation was enabled by three bindings of elvehn spell-craft. Find those binding scrolls, destroy them, and I shall be reunited body and spirit."**_

"And once you are whole again?" Anders pressed. "It would be pointless to bring her back if you turn around and kill everybody in Kirkwall on a whim."

"_**I've had enough of the stink of piety to last several eternities. I will go to Tevinter, where the Archon will know my true value and honor me accordingly. However, should you fail to free me, I will see to it that you and your love will both end up in the Beyond, but not together - and I will ensure that you never meet again."**_

"Save your threats," the mage replied wearily. "You must already know of my absolute hatred of imprisonment, whether it's warranted or not. If what you say is true - about the Fade being a prison for your kind - it's no wonder so many have gone mad after countless ages trapped there. But it will take time to find these binding scrolls you mentioned - it's not very likely they'll just be conveniently lying around."

"_**What is time in a timeless space? I can be patient, now that I know deliverance is coming."**_

The darkness did not hold quite as much terror for him now as it had before, but Anders tried to summon a wisp again. Still nothing, which worried him deeply. It would return - it had to - it was part of him, after all, right? And by that same token, Justice would return as well - _I wish he wouldn't_ he thought idly. But if it took too long, at least there was the lyrium in the clinic. One way or another, somehow Maia would be restored, and that was all that mattered. Gently, he began to probe at the bolt, using his fingers to "see" whether he should cut off the vanes or the head to pull it out.

* * *

><p>With a warning hiss, Isabela appeared a short distance away, apparently worried that Fenris or Varric might over-react to her return. Both started slightly, but that was all. Nodding approvingly, she crossed the rest of the distance at a noiseless trot. Her expression was not a happy one.<p>

"Apparently, your boy can count even if he _is_ scared out of his smalls," she whispered mockingly. "There's a damned big patch of blood on the floor right at the top of the stairs, though, and a blood trail leading to the cellar door; so I'm guessing Hawke and Anders are holed up in there.

"They've got two big lads stationed on either side of the door, and two crossbowmen directly across from them ready to fire. Luckily for us, the rest are in the clinic, tearing it apart like they expect to find treasure hidden in every piss pot. And an ugly piece of work I'll wager is their boss is sitting on a chunk of fallen masonry looking fairly pleased with himself. They all look like the usual common thugs the Coterie scrapes together for a raid - expendable unless they prove otherwise by surviving."

"So, no mages?" Varric asked, feeling slightly more optimistic as the dark headed woman nodded agreement. "Well, now, that helps a bit, doesn't it?" Four-to-one odds weren't something he usually liked to gamble on, but if his little rescue party waited much longer, that's exactly what they'd be facing when the ones in the clinic finally realized there was nothing worth stealing and came back out to join their fellows. If only Aveline hadn't been in such a bloody hurry.

Still, if they could dispose of the outer four quietly enough, the clinic doors could be pulled shut before the others knew what was happening. Then they could be picked off as they tried to get out of the clinic. Varric nodded to himself, sucking on his lower teeth and looking at the other two questioningly. Normally it would be Hawke leading them into a lopsided battle reassured by that crazy luck of hers, but this time? Sod it - if Hawke's luck had run out, it was up to them to bring it back.

"All right, here's how we're going to do this," he said with a grim smile, and they both nodded eagerly.

* * *

><p>She sprawled naked on his leather coat, head pillowed in the ratty feathered capelet that he stubbornly refused to give up. She was so glad he'd agreed to come back here - where their love had first been consummated. Making love to Anders - whether in her room at the estate or on one of the cots in the clinic - was always wonderful, of course - even more so now that he was finally fully committed to experiencing it himself, but this was truly their place - with no one to interrupt or judge, except the poor little glowworms.<p>

He had rolled his weight off her not long before, panting and chuckling softly, gently moving a few sweat-damped curls from her forehead, whispering reassurance that he would be back in just a few moments. Hawke smiled and sighed in contentment. They really needed to make a point of coming here more often. As her breathing slowed, she saw that a few sparks of light were beginning to shine in the darkness.

After a long time of drifting in the afterglow, she became aware of distant splashing - not the sound of droplets hitting the lake as she'd first thought - but of running footsteps, hoarse breathing and an ominous clanking which echoed down the watercourse leading into the cave. Nervously, she sat up and drew the coat around her shoulders. "Anders?" she called softly.

By this time, the glowworms had brightened to almost their full luminosity, and she was able to see a man dressed in Circle robes come racing around the bend, a mixed look of determination and fear on his face. Close on his heels was a figure that filled her with anger - a templar in full kit. The mage was not Anders, she saw with relief, but he looked familiar - as if she'd met him in passing on the streets of Kirkwall sometime in the past few years. In fact, he was ... he was...

"_Papa!"_ she yelped in amazement, and saw the same surprise on his face just as the glowworms went out again, followed by a loud splash, a yell of anger, and a louder splash.

* * *

><p>The fight was starting out fairly well, Fenris thought with satisfaction, with the element of surprise allowing the removal of the two crossbowman almost exactly as Varric had planned. A bolt from Bianca had gone through the eye of the more distant man just as one of Isabela's throwing daggers had appeared in the forehead of the nearer one. But things quickly got ugly because one of the men guarding the cellar door proved to be more alert than hoped and yelled a warning to the men looting the clinic when he saw the archers go down.<p>

Immediately, Fenris rushed to close the distance. At the beginning of his attack, he slipped slightly in the large patch of bloody dirt at the top of the stairs, and the thought that it might be Hawke's blood on his foot - _probably_ was hers, he admitted savagely to himself - drove him into a killing frenzy. With one powerful sweep of his sword he took off the head of the one who'd given the alarm. His pivoting follow-through continued on to completely sever the top portion of the second man's torso, but his blade ended up deeply stuck in the door frame, and he was disarmed for a critical few seconds. With shouts of surprise and anger, Coterie fighters boiled out through both clinic doors, keying on him as the primary source of danger.

He phased and dodged back to where he'd left the hammer, avoiding the worst of their initial attacks, but even though he quickly re-armed himself things were rapidly degenerating into a chaotic whirlwind of action around him, until the tide was turned by the arrival of Aveline, who literally _sprinted_ in at the head of her winded squad.

"I will end every single _one_ of you if Hawke's taken any harm," she roared, and Fenris made haste to get out of her way as she charged into the middle of the fray. After taking one look at her bared teeth and flashing eyes, all of the Coterie thugs threw down their weapons immediately - with only the leader daring to challenge her. The sound his skull made when she contemptuously bashed it in with her shield was going to linger in his dreams for several weeks to come, the elf was sure.

"Nug humping idiot," one of the bandits had muttered in vindication in the silence that followed. "I _told_ him they had friends. Now we're all for the Void."

"Guardsman Donnic - take these criminals into custody and find out what exactly was going on here. I'll be along to deal with them in due course," the red-headed warrior barked, moving her hands in quick gestures with a tiny jerk of her chin at the bandit who'd spoken. The tall, rough-featured guardsman nodded, then saluted smartly, marching the group of prisoners away with the rest of the squad providing alert accompaniment. One female guard stayed behind, clearly upset.

"Guard Captain?" she said hesitantly, eyes fastened on the discolored patch of floor.

"Carida, right?" Aveline's voice softened bit when the guard nodded jerkily. "What is it, guardswoman?"

"Master Anders and Mistress Hawke - are they all right? He healed my da' some months ago, and she's the one as put me forward to the Guard. We owe them everything, Guard Captain," the young woman said, raising her eyes from the grisly sight with an effort.

"Both of them are tough and resourceful," Aveline replied evasively. "Catch up to the others and we'll talk about it at the next patrol briefing, all right?"

"Yes, Guard Captain," Carida had replied, eyes darting quickly around their faces and getting a more honest reply from their expressions. Her jaw trembled briefly, and she turned and ran off after the other guards.

Aveline turned to face Varric, and he took an involuntary step backwards. "_Damnit_, Varric, if you'd given me more background, I would have brought a patrol down here straightaway," she gritted. Her fist clenched tightly on the hilt of her sword for a moment, then she turned and wiped the blade clean on the leggings of the Coterie lieutenant before sheathing it.

Varric opened his mouth to retort, but shut it without saying anything. Instead, he turned and trotted over to the door to the Amell estate's cellars. It was achingly clear that Isabela had been right when she said it was where Hawke and Anders had gone, both from the scuffed blood trail and from the fresh gouges and scores marring the sturdy planking. He pulled on the ring, but the door remained closed.

"Hello?" he yelled, pounding on the door with the metal plate on Bianca's buttplate. "Sorry, baby," he muttered in apology, stroking the smooth wooden stock. "Hawke, Anders - the fight's over. We're here..."

There was no reply from within. With a muttered curse, Fenris pushed past the dwarf, and smashed his hammer against the door hard enough to crack some of the planks. _"Hawke!"_ he roared.

This time there was a response - something knocked against the door from the inside. He tilted his head, pressing one ear against the wood, and heard a man's voice. _The mage._ _I should have known,_ he thought bitterly. _Hawke, if you're dead, he is, too..._

"The key was broken off in the lock," he heard Anders' muffled shout. "You've got to unjam it, or break the Blighted door in. Whatever you do, just _hurry!_"

Goaded by the note of panic in the man's voice, Fenris drew the hammer back to deliver another punishing blow to the door, but Isabela put one cool hand on his shoulder and stopped him. "Now might be a perfect time to remember just how useful your magical fisting trick can be in situations other than battle," she purred, giving him a sultry smile before swinging away to start looting the bodies of the fallen Coterie men. Aveline snorted in exasperated amusement, but held out her hand to the elf. Chastened, he gave her the hammer, and triggered the brands on his arm.

Seconds later, he withdrew his hand with the shattered half of the key clenched in his fingers. He cast it aside impatiently and yanked on the pull ring. This time, the door swung open, warped hinges protesting loudly. All of them held their breath, afraid to look, but needing to see.

Anders staggered to the opening with Hawke's body clutched in his arms. The entire front and side of his coat was stiff with dark blood, and he looked as if he would collapse at any minute. As he came through the door, he had to sidestep Fenris' blade where it jutted from the door frame. His eyes shifted from the sword to Fenris and back again, and a ghost of a smile lit his face for just a second. "She was right," he breathed.

As the former slave bristled, suspecting he'd just been insulted somehow, Varric pulled him out of the way, deep concern etched on his face. "Kill him later, Fenris. Blondie, how is she?"

Anders shook his head wearily, refusing to make eye contact. "It's ... bad, really bad. Aveline, please, take her - I want to get the bolt out of her before anything else," he whispered harshly. Without hesitation, the woman dropped the warhammer and held out her arms, eyes suspiciously shiny. She cradled Hawke's small form gently, heading immediately for the clinic doors.

"Varric - I've got to have lyrium - three bottles at least. Check around the clinic, please." Anders' feverish gaze passed across the bodies of the two crossbowmen as he followed Aveline toward the doors, leaning on his staff for support like an old man, and he smiled in bitter satisfaction. "Rot in the Void, you bastards," he hissed.

Once they were inside, he continued issuing rapid orders, fighting past the pain of his ravaged throat. "Isabela - I'll need water, wine and strong spirits - juice or broth, too. The damned templar drained me so far that even with lyrium I'll barely be able to heal her, let alone restore her. She'll need as much fluid as we can force into her to replace the blood she's lost."

He stopped abruptly, swaying on his feet, and his expression twisted. "Oh, no ...," he breathed in anguish. There was a small pile of bodies - refugees by the look of their shabby clothes - heaped against the inner wall - dumped there by the Coterie members. "Fenris, could you ..." he swallowed with difficulty, and fresh tears made their way down his cheeks. "Could you please take care of them? They deserve a little dignity, at least..."

Aveline had just placed Hawke's body on the table when Varric came hurrying up, face lined with worry. "Anders, I'm sorry, but there's no lyrium anywhere - all I could find was these," he said, holding out a few shards of glass and several stoppers. "It looks like somebody just smashed them out of spite, or dropped them while they were looting ..."

"Or drank them all and went mad with the sensation," Anders whispered in horrified realization, staring at the glittering splinters. "No wonder the energy felt so wrong - so powerful." Then he realized what the loss of the lyrium meant, and he sank to the floor, letting his staff fall with a clatter. "Maker, how can I save her now?" he cried brokenly, staring at each of them in turn where they stood, frozen by the utter desolation in his voice.

Then honey-brown eyes locked with brilliant green ones, and he surged to his feet, all else forgotten as he lunged for Fenris. "Fenris -your brands - channel them through me... it's the only way I can save her," he pleaded frantically.

The elf backed away from him, a look of revulsion on his face. "What are you talking about, mage?" he spat. "So your powers are blocked - why do you not simply give her a healing potion or two like a normal person would?" He flared the brands on his arm again, and held the hand out, fingers clawed in obvious threat. _"I will not allow you to use me."_

"Because she's _dead_, you idiot!" the mage screamed in rage." I've got to find her spirit in the Fade and bind it back to her body, and the longer it takes, the more likely it is that she'll be permanently lost there. Now do you understand?" With a few long strides, he closed the distance between the two of them and locked his hands on the jagged shoulders of Fenris' armor - unheeding of the further damage he was incurring.

"I know you hate me, Fenris. The feeling is mutual," he grated. "But this is for Hawke. Please, for once in your life, try to see the _good_ your brands could do with the correct use of magic. I am _not_ Danarius." Fenris' arm was poised to deliver the killing blow, and Anders glared at him through its light as if daring him to do it.

The two men remained poised for a breathless moment, until Aveline's voice broke through the tension. Her normally stern tone was muted and almost fragile. "Fenris, not long after I met the Hawkes I had to give my own husband the _coup_, and it nearly destroyed me. But Hawke kept me going, and since then she's become the little sister I never had. Please ..."

Anders let go of Fenris with a sob, and turned away, cradling his bloody palms to his chest, strained almost past bearing. He tottered back to the table, and put one hand on Hawke's forehead, waiting with his head bowed. "Blood magic can't save her, and even if it could, I still would not use it," he said softly. "This is the only way, I swear, Fenris. _Help me._"

Slowly, Fenris lowered his arm, the light from the brands fading. He looked at the other companions. Varric's hands were clenched on Bianca, and tears ran unheeded down his cheeks as he nodded. Isabela smiled sweetly at him, with no trace of her usual smirk. Aveline's head was high, and she stared back at him evenly, but her face still held a trace of vulnerability. Finally, he looked at the abomination - the apostate - the mage; and saw ... just a man - wounded, in pain, grieving for his love.

Fenris exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing his fear as best as he could, then circled around the table to stand across from Anders. He stared down at Hawke's pale face for a moment, then touched her cheek gently with one gauntleted hand. _"Amantes sunt amentes. Esto perpetua,"_* he whispered, then looked up at Anders, who had raised his head at the elf's words.

"Indeed," the mage agreed with a small smile. He held out his hand, palm slightly bloody where he had cut it on Fenris' armor.

With an answering twitch of his lips, Fenris removed his gauntlet, triggered his brands once more and covered Anders' hand with his own.

* * *

><p>As I did in Mundane Magic, I am using Latin as a substitute for Arcanum.<p>

* I am here, love.

* Lovers are lunatics. May she live forever."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** Wow, I really had no idea about Fenris' feelings for Hawke - I thought, like Varric does, that he was still sweet on Isabela (and I think Isabela still thought he was, too, poor girl). Apologies for the length of time between updates, too - this chapter has been a real bear, because I've been trying to bounce back and forth between different characters' points of view, and Fenris is very difficult for me to write. For one thing, he hasn't opened up to me very much at all - and for another it was very hard to maintain his prickliness and jealousy and at the same time allow him to begin to realize that friendship can be a nice thing. In addition to that, a hint of Fenders kept trying to insinuate itself into the story, and I spent quite a lot of time trying chasing it in circles trying to quell it before I finally surrendered and allowed it some leeway. Turns out, there IS a reason for it - Sebastian whispered it into my ear one night - it will be called "Reading, Writing and Revenge."

**Body Shots**

When Fenris' fully charged brands interacted with his skin, Anders shivered and gasped slightly and his fingers tightened around the elf's hand. Lyrium in potion form was powerful, but it always seemed to leave him feeling sluggish when he had to use it. And the Fade energy Justice offered him, while just as powerful, always seemed cold and remote. In marked contrast, however, the lyrium energy streaming into him from Fenris was warm and vibrant, feeling almost like Anders' own power when he was healing. The cold knot of dread and helplessness that had clenched in his gut for the past hour finally started to loosen. Buoyed and feeling more relaxed, Anders recalled himself to the task at hand, and loosened his grip on Fenris' hand. _I'm almost on my way, love. Just wait a little while longer - and don't listen to any spirits._

He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at Fenris, who was glaring at him with suspicion evident on his face. "Sorry," he apologized, giving the elf a sheepish grin. "I never realized just how powerful your tie to the lyrium was - it was a bit ... disconcerting to discover just how similar it feels to my magic." He grinned tiredly as Fenris muttered some denial at him.

"Anyway, we need to get that damned bolt out of her heart before anything else," Anders continued with certainty, "and for that, _you_ need to take the lead. At first, I had just considered cutting the head or the vanes off so we could pull the shaft out of her, but if you can phase it out of the heart, then I can heal the tears it made completely without having to worry about going back in to remove splinters or flakes of metal later on."

Fenris looked rather queasy at the detailed description, and Anders was unable to resist a quick gibe. "How can simply pulling out a single bolt bother you after all the hearts and other organs you've removed or destroyed?" He felt ashamed a moment later when Fenris glanced down at Hawke, then looked back up at him with his heart in his eyes.

"Because this is Hawke," the elf said quietly, "and I do not want to hurt her any further." Anders could feel Fenris' hand shaking on his. "Are you sure about this?" Fenris continued, seeking reassurance. "I have never actually tried removing something inert from flesh using the power from my brands and ... I am afraid." He said the last three words in a barely audible whisper.

Anders blinked, truly astonished. "Don't worry, Fenris," he finally said, giving the elf's hand a quick squeeze and sensing the bone-deep trembling that was hidden by the strange black armor covering the elf's slender frame. "You won't hurt her, because I'll follow right along behind you to heal everything good as new - you just keep feeding me the energy at a steady level." The mage forced himself to wait patiently, even though every fiber of his being was screaming against further delay, because he finally had a sense of just how hard the elf was struggling against panic. To cover the the other man's discomfort and give him time to collect his resolve, Anders looked around, and saw that none of the rest of Hawke's friends had moved.

Varric and Aveline were both staring at Hawke's bloody, unmoving form with expressions of disbelief - still not really comprehending that she was actually dead. And Isabela was staring at Fenris with a similar expression of disbelief mixed with hurt surprise. As if she felt his eyes on her, she glanced aside at Anders and frowned briefly, before shrugging and rolling her eyes, as if daring him to make anything of it.

"Err, Aveline," the mage said diffidently, "I'm hoping there won't be any more trouble, but at the same time, one of the other Coterie leaders might see this as a perfect opportunity to finish what this gang started." The red-headed warrior dragged her gaze away from Hawke, and looked at Anders as if she'd forgotten where she was.

"You're right, Anders," she said, glancing at the doors of the clinic, assessing the space for defensible points and finding none. "I'll be back with another squad double time, with orders to stand guard here as long as you need. "And there's still a good chance that lyrium-crazed templar is wandering around - I've got to find him before he does anything worse..."

"And what will you do with him if you find him?" Anders asked with a harsh edge to his voice. "You know damned well that if he goes back to the Gallows, nothing will be done. He'll probably even get a pat on the back from that poisonous bitch. For Meredith to unleash one of her own to work with a common street gang in a direct attack on a citizen of the city has got to be a crime worth punishing."

"I'll let you know what I find out from the other gang members," Aveline said soberly. "But until I have the man himself in custody and talking, you know my hands are tied, Anders. I'm sorry." Her gaze slid back to the table, and her lips thinned. "But chances are the questioning process might be fairly ... vigorous. I don't think a dust-drunk templar who makes a habit of assaulting Kirkwall civilians would make it back to the Gallows very quickly, if at all."

Anders nodded grimly in tacit acknowledgment. "I think I can live with that..."

"And I'm off to the Hanged Man for spirits, wine and whatever else..." Isabela interrupted cheekily. "Varric - you'd better come with me to carry the water and juice - that way the wine and spirits will be safe. And I would really advise against the broth, Anders - who knows just what ended up in the pot last night. How about if we stop off at Tomwise's booth instead and see what he has in stock?"

Fenris stirred a bit, and spoke to Isabela. "If I might make a suggestion? Skip the Hanged Man altogether. There is still good wine in the mansion. Look downstairs in the first storage area. You are welcome to bring whatever you find." The pirate raised an eyebrow at such generosity, then shrugged.

"Fine with me," she said flippantly. "Varric, are you coming?" She turned toward the double doors.

"Right you are, Rivaini," the dwarf replied, shooting a final worried look at the mage. "What about you and Broody, Blondie? Want to lock the doors behind us - at least until Aveline and her squad can make it back?"

"There'll be no need for that, Messere Tethras," a woman's clear voice rang across the clinic, followed by a murmuring wave of many voices echoing in agreement. They all turned towards the doors and saw Lirene flanked by Guardswoman Carida and her father. Behind them, visible through both doors, were dozens of people that Anders recognized as people he and Hawke had helped over the years - mostly refugees who still lingered for various reasons, but some Kirkwallers, too - all armed in some way and with determined expressions on their faces.

"I hope you don't mind, Guard-Captain," Lirene said to Aveline, who was looking at Carida with surprised approval, "but when Carida told me what had happened, I collected everyone I could. We'll stand with the Healer, and with Mistress Hawke, for as long as need be."

"That's quick thinking, Guard _Lieutenant_ Carida," Aveline said with a sharp nod and a grin at the young woman's stunned reaction. "Not that I don't expect my people to take initiative, but you've a good head on your shoulders. This will free me up to search for the renegade templar, and get to questioning the prisoners. You're in charge until I send reinforcements. Keep them all safe - and yourself."

With a pleased smile, Carida gave a few quiet-voiced orders, and most of the crowd took up position outside the doors, while Lirene came a bit further into the clinic. "Is there anything else you need, Healer?"

Anders felt more tears prickling at his eyes and spilling over onto his cheeks. Shaking his head, he smiled his gratitude to her - to all of them. "See to your fallen fellows, mistress," he whispered, gesturing to where Fenris had arranged the bodies and covered them with thin blankets. "I'm so sorry that they were caught in this business - and that I couldn't save them." Then Fenris' hand closed firmly on his shoulder, and he saw that the elf was smiling sourly.

"I don't know how you do it, but almost everyone seems to be of the same mind when it comes to you," he said grudgingly, then took a deep breath and shook his head. "Anders, you would have helped them if you could. Even I realize that. You have always served the unfortunates of this city without hesitation, so they trust you. And since Hawke trusts you, as well, I can do no less. I am ready."

Once the other companions had left on their various errands, the two men debated cutting Hawke's chestguard off, but Fenris pointed out that if he was going to bring the bolt out of her chest, it would go through the leather as well. Anders conceded the point, admitting he didn't want to be the one to tell Hawke he'd had a hand in destroying yet another piece of her armor.

Fenris snorted in amused agreement, then lightly cupped his bare hand over the curve of Hawke's breast. _Just one of the ways I have always dreamed of touching her,_ he thought cynically, _but not exactly under such circumstances, and certainly not with her lover watching like a hawk._

With a thought, he triggered the brands again, and shuddered as his hand passed through the leather, through her skin and into her chest - insubstantial and unfeeling. He closed his eyes and visualized the bolt - how it lay just so through the heart and noticing where it had also nicked a lung and cracked a rib on its way out. He pictured his fingers clutching the middle of the shaft - spreading the ghostly blue lyrium glow through the wood and metal - turning it into an extension of his noncorporeal hand. _"Nunc aut nunquam*,"_ he breathed, and drew it forth.

Anders had been holding his breath, and let it out in a relieved sigh when the bolt was removed. _"Fenris, non dolet*,"_ he replied reassuringly as the elf shuddered again and with one convulsive movement, snapped the now-solid bolt in two, dropping the pieces to the floor with a clatter. Dark droplets of blood sprayed out from the impact and splattered on his feet. With a low moan of disgust and rage, Fenris let go of Anders' hand abruptly and violently ground the wooden pieces underfoot, not caring as they drove small splinters into the exposed skin of his sole.

"It damaged more than her heart," he grimly informed the mage when he was finished. "There is also a small hole in the edge of one lung, and one of the back ribs was cracked by the head of the bolt."

"Hmmm," the Anders said, considering the news. "I only had a few seconds working on the wound, so all I noticed was the heart. But you could actually 'see' what else was damaged? That's an incredibly useful talent to have. You could help a healer tremendously just by determining the extent of damage before they started..." He broke off abruptly as he realized what he was saying, and to whom.

"I'm sorry," he continued, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "I'm exhausted and I'm babbling. But this means I will need more power to fix the different kinds of wound. Neither you nor I will be in any shape to continue standing over a table to do so - and that's not even considering the energy I'll need to go into the Fade. The bone can wait - we'll just bind her torso to support the ribs until I'm more fully recovered. Let's get two more of the tables over here ..." They conscripted a few of the vigilantes to do the necessary lifting, and soon the three tables were side-by-side, with Hawke's in the middle.

Anders noticed that Fenris had begun to tense up again, so he waved him towards the back of the clinic. There was a waterskin there, and his tortured throat needed some relief. He drank a little, then let some sit in his mouth so he could gargle a bit to ease the soreness. He offered it to the elf, who declined it with a slight shake of his head. "I am beginning to wish I had accepted Varric's offer earlier," Fenris muttered.

The mage recorked the skin and addressed him in a low voice. "Fenris," he said, "I understand how difficult this is for you. I've healed you before, using my own power, of course, but this will be a different interaction. I know Danarius abused your reserves for his own purposes, which is why I want to let you control the amount you release. But if you can't judge just how much to give - well, no offense - but I'm afraid that if I need to pull more, you'll react badly."

Fenris nodded. "Occasionally, if I am caught unawares, that has happened. I once awoke from a nightmare to find my arm all the way through the headboard and part way into the wall," he admitted almost proudly.

"Oh, really? Well, yes then, in the interests of me staying alive so I can bring Hawke back, what do you think about performing a small experiment first?" Anders suggested quickly. "I know you must have done something to your foot just now, and I really need to get this cut of mine closed before I start working on Hawke. If you can feel the difference in draw required to heal our two types of injury, then you should be more prepared for the more intense draw that will be needed for her wounds."

Fenris nodded again. "That would seem to be a prudent course of action," he said, and sat down so he could pull the leather strap back over his heel to expose the sole of his foot for the mage's inspection. Anders squatted in front of him, and held out his hand. The connection with the elf's lyrium went more smoothly this time, and Anders was able to ignore its siren call almost completely.

The mage passed his other hand over Fenris' foot and sent just a bare minimum of Fenris' power - now converted into healing energy - into the skin, drawing the splinters forth and sealing the small wounds, trying his best to prevent any interaction with the brands exposed to his view, since he knew from past experience that the elf became more irritable than usual when they were touched even by non-magical contact. His own toes curled in sympathy to think of the excruciating pain the procedure must have caused on such a sensitive area. _I wonder where else they were ...no, no I don't. Healing now..._

For his part, Fenris had been dreading what was to occur - because even at the best of times, the healing power from any mage had always created a painful itching sensation wherever it touched. And with Anders, the discomfort had seemed to be elevated even further by their continual disagreements. But his own power being channeled back into him through Anders was ... fine. It felt almost no different from activating the brands during battle.

He had just begun to relax slightly when a little of the power intersected one of the lyrium traceries on his sole and a jolt of blinding pleasure shot from his foot to his groin in a heartbeat. He gasped and yanked his hand away from where it overlaid Anders' palm, then stared at the mage - panting and wide eyed. "What are you doing?" he demanded roughly.

"Sorry!" Anders said immediately, flinching back out of Fenris' immediate reach, just in case. His brows had drawn down in concern, and the honey-brown eyes were worried. "Is that too much? I could try to cut back further on the draw, if this is too painful," he said doubtfully. _Maker help me - he's _got_ to give me more power, I can't bring her back with such a trickle_ was his panicked thought.

"Not to worry," Fenris replied after a moment, struggling to ignore the secondary tingling and warmth that still lingered in the brands. "It ...ah ... it merely startled me, that is all. It was not painful, like it usually is..." his voice dropped nearly to a whisper. "Quite the opposite, to be honest," he finally admitted, blushing and looking away.

It was Anders' turn to go wide-eyed. "Do you mean to tell me that it's _hurt_ every time I've healed you up until now?" he demanded incredulously. When the elf nodded, suprised at the mage's vehemence, Anders burst out again. "Maker's balls, Fenris. Why didn't you ever tell me? It's not supposed to hurt at all. Does it happen each time?" When Fenris nodded again, he reached out to the elf, but stopped short. "No wonder...I'm so sorry. _Damn_ that Danarius to the Void."

Fenris smiled grimly. "At last, something else upon which we agree wholeheartedly," he said, stealing a glance at Hawke's still face. "Do not concern yourself further. If it hurts, I know I am still alive. Although in future, I would not object if we occasionally use this means to heal me, if the wound is especially bad. For now, however, shall we continue? The draw for healing my foot was hardly even noticeable, so I feel confident what you will need for yourself and Hawke will not be a problem." With no further sign of hesitation, he held his hand out to Anders again. The unnervingly pleasurable sensation did not repeat, and he relaxed even further.

Within a few moments, Anders' hand was whole again, and even the broken feeling inside him had eased slightly. With a casual flick of power, he soothed his throat. "Right, then," he said anxiously. "I guess it's time. Let's heal her and bring her home." The two walked back to the tables flanking Hawke. While Fenris climbed on one, lying on his side facing Hawke's body, Anders gave last minute instructions to Lirene and Carida, letting them know not to disturb or touch any of them, and to pass those instructions on to the companions upon their return.

Then he settled himself on the other table, also on his side. He quirked a small grin at Fenris. "Are you ready? I won't bring you into the Fade, because you'll have to remain aware enough to maintain your brands' output, but at the worst you might just feel a little sleepy." He swallowed. Healing Hawke's physical wounds would be easy enough. But whether the Fade spirit had honored its promise to keep Hawke's essence stable ... _No, we've accomplished too much to fail now_, he reminded himself sternly.

Anders stared into Fenris' green eyes, trying to convey just how much he appreciated the elf's help. "This means more to me than I can ever repay Fenris. 'Thank you' seems inadequate, but nevertheless, you will always have my thanks - and my respect." He exhaled slowly, and placed his hand over Hawke's heart. Seconds later, Fenris gently twined his fingers through those of the mage, so the connection would stay unbroken.

_Hawke will never believe this_ was the thought in both of their minds as Fenris triggered his brands and Anders sank into a deep trance to begin his dual mission.

* * *

><p>Arcanum = Latin<p>

*Now or never.

*Fenris, it doesn't hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** First: a quick editorial note for Chapters 7 & 8 - 7 was Body Shots, and through a slight mix-up, 8 ended up with the same title. Instead, it should have been called Body Shots, Another Round. As for the title of this chapter- it's not in reference to the liquid exhaled by a drowned baby sandworm - pen-name notwithstanding - but instead refers to the translation of _uisge baugh_ (whiskey), which the Gaelic peoples have referred to as the water of life for many, many centuries.

**The Water of Life**

They sat on opposite sides of a small fire, kindled by magic and fed sparingly with little pieces of driftwood. Rather than take the time to dress fully, Hawke had pulled on Anders' shirt, which hung on her like a sack. Malcolm, meanwhile, was wearing Anders' coat and drying his robes by the fire. She studied her father's face intently. It looked exactly as she remembered it from earliest childhood - open, lit occasionally by an infectious smile and set with deep green eyes that were insatiably curious. Even now, as he rubbed his curly dark hair dry and then held his hands open to the flames, his gaze turned to study her in turn, brows drawn down in frank disbelief.

"And you still insist that I should just accept your assurance that you're my daughter?" he said, continuing a bantering argument that had started not long after she had assisted him out of the lake, spluttering and coughing up copious amounts of water. "I don't see how that is possible. Your resemblance to me _is_ remarkable, I'll admit, but we're practically of an age - and I certainly wasn't seducing women in my infancy." The droll note in his voice made her laugh outright, and he grinned as well.

"You escaped the Gallows with the help of a templar named Carver, destroyed your phylactery to permanently avoid recapture, eloped with Leandra Amell to Ferelden and had three children with her - I was the oldest," Hawke countered starkly, which wiped the grin off his face.

He had started visibly when she mentioned the templar's name, but as she went on, his expression grew incredulous. "Wait a moment - _who_?" he spluttered, then started laughing uproariously. "That's even more impossible than you being my daughter," he finally gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "Leandra's _completely_ out of my league - even if she is a pretty thing. Besides, I don't think any mere _man_ will ever be able to separate her from Merry."

It was Hawke's turn to splutter. "Merry? Who is Merry?" she demanded, intrigued by this unexpected facet of her parents' history. "Growing up, we were always told that Leandra was betrothed to the Comte de Launcet's son, but then the two of you fell madly in love and ran off together against her parents' wishes..." Looking at the stunned expression on his face, she found herself reluctant to add the bitter truth she'd come to know that lay behind the storyteller's fable.

"Merry is Meredith Stannard - a young templar lieutenant who saved Leandra's life - or at least, her virtue - after an imprudent escapade at the Hanged Man not long after I'd met her," Malcolm replied slowly. "The nickname's a barracks joke, though - because for all she's a looker - those eyes can freeze the bollocks off any man, especially if he's a mage. And even though she's as baseborn as I, because of what she did for the Amell family Merry's on her way up, which is another reason I'm glad to see the last of the place." Hawke raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's a long story and I won't bore you with it now, but the gist was that a few weeks after the trouble at the Hanged Man, I made the mistake of trying to chat Leandra up outside the Chantry after services," Malcolm explained casually. "If the Reverend Mother hadn't stepped in, I think Meredith would have killed me for daring to sully her new plaything with mage taint. In the future, I might not be so lucky," he sighed. "Still, for Leandra's sake, it might just be worth the risk - the poor girl's been used as a pawn by her family for most of her life, and now Meredith's jumped in with both feet, thinking she's secured her future in Hightown by befriending her. Leandra's a nice girl, but she really needs to find the backbone to stand up to everyone who's trying to use her."

Hawke's head whirled at the information. Leandra and Knight-Commander Meredith _friends_? Her upright mother gallivanting around Lowtown and getting into trouble? Was _anything_ she'd been told growing up true? The silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long time as she pondered, until Malcolm cleared his throat.

"But be that as it may, even though you're surprisingly well informed about the current and supposed upcoming day-to-day trivialities of my life, you could just be a decoy for one of the local mercenary bands I've interfered with," Malcolm said. "Or maybe one of the collaborators who have started 'volunteering' to help Merry. She knows where the families are, you see - and she won't scruple to use that information to bring certain mages and apprentices into line - as a result, she has informants all throughout the city,. Sometimes I think she knows more about what's actually happening in Kirkwall than the Viscount does...

"Sadly, my dear, I can see no way in the Maker's green world that past and present could cross the years and allow us to have this conversation, entertaining though it is. I will thank you for the use of this coat, and your timely intervention with the templar, but I really should be going. I've plenty more miles I need to cover before I reach a safe haven. And thanks for reminding me about my phylactery - I'm sure that templar had it on him." He stood up and shrugged off Anders' coat, catching hold of it by the shoulders and folding it neatly before leaving it beside the fire. "I guess I'd better dive for his body and see what I can salvage."

As he headed for the water, Hawke forged on doggedly, tucking her knees up under her chin and crossing her arms in front of them. "I think it's this place, Papa - _Malcolm_," she corrected as he looked back at her and started to open his mouth. "You wrote in your journal about escaping from Kirkwall with Ser Carver's help and coming through Sundermount. That's how Anders and I found it - we retraced your journey - and we've been funneling escaped mages through here for a few years now. I think there's some very powerful magic left over from the Tevinter/Arlathan wars, perhaps even concentrated in those little beasties," she nodded toward the lake and the gyre of glowworms, "and that's what's allowing us to meet. As a matter of fact, that first time we came here, I was sure I could feel your spirit."

Malcolm shrugged and turned back to the water, wading in slowly and hissing at how cold it was with each step. "Anything's possible, I suppose," he said quietly, but she could tell he wasn't convinced.

"I just wish Anders would get back so you two could meet. You'd like him, and I know he'd like you." She frowned slightly and looked up the shore towards the inlet. "Actually, I can't imagine what's taking him so long. I hope he hasn't gotten lost. I suppose if he heard you and that templar, he might have hidden or taken a wrong turning..."

A deeply inhaled breath and a quiet swishing noise was her only reply. The ripples Malcolm had made in the water as he submerged quickly faded away, and she was left in silence again with only the fire for company. She fed another piece of wood into the flames. Then, faintly, she heard a voice echoing down the waterway, and she froze, straining to make out the words.

* * *

><p>Fenris lay unmoving, staring at the profile of Hawke's face, then briefly shifting his focus to that of the mage. <em>What she sees in him, I'll never understand<em>, he thought resignedly. After a few seconds, his attention was drawn back to the delicate face of the rogue who had stolen his heart the first time they'd met. He still remembered that night, when the makeshift band of hirelings he'd contracted Anso to procure had surpassed all his hopes - completely destroying the entire tracking party sent out by Danarius. The initial surprise he'd felt when Hawke had addressed him as their leader - at first glance he'd assumed Aveline would be in charge. How Hawke had _railed_ at him for not openly approaching her for help. He'd thought her naive at the time, or else a very skilled actress, but he'd come to realize that the fierce honesty and loyalty she afforded those she championed was no act.

He also remembered how flustered - and flattered - he'd been when she had flirted with him. Even later on, when it was painfully apparent that she was pursuing Anders, she had continued the gentle banter, and he had clung to hope - that the mage would continue to prove obstinate, that she would finally give up her fixation with the man. That hope had burned brighter when the two had their falling out, and for two years he had tried to win her- struggling against the fear of Danarius' inevitable appearance, against his own bitter nature and ingrained distrust - all to no avail. It had been a heavy blow when Anders had finally relented and reunited with her, but there was no mistaking the depth of feeling they had for each other. That was when hope had transmuted to sullen jealousy, and he began to revel in needling the mage mercilessly - not caring if it made Hawke dislike him - indeed, he had wanted her to suffer, too.

That was also when, in desperation, he had turned to Isabela, but although the woman was incredibly skilled in all the matters of pleasure and had proven to be a considerate lover, he just never felt the connection with her that he did with Hawke. His growing friendship with Sebastian, another of Hawke's odd collection of friends, had provided a plausible enough excuse to break off relations with the pirate, but he still still felt affectionately towards her, and realized he shared a measure of blame for her ongoing parade of sexual misadventures. Finding out she had been whoring herself to that prat Bran as an exchange for his safety just made it worse.

A sudden disturbance by the door broke in upon his introspection, and he stiffened, free hand automatically groping for a weapon that wasn't there. "Stop right there, dwarf," he heard Carida's challenging voice. "We've already put down some Coterie scum today, but we can easily add Carta to the tally."

"Heh, yer a sassy one, lass! Too tall and scrawny for ol' Jakdan, though. Look at me - better yet, take a whiff. Only way the Carta would have need of me would be if they was thinking of having a party." As if to emphasize the point, Fenris heard a loud belch, followed by a small sound of disgust.

"Very well, then," Carida replied in a scathing tone. "What business might a sloppy-drunk dwarf have with the Healer? If you're worried about a hangover, you should just go sleep it off - he'll not waste his time on such as you."

"The Healer? Sod him, I don't need his services - I'm fit as a bronto in harness. See, it's just that I was told that Hightowner Hawke was down here looking for me yesterday. She sent one of them sewer rats to me to set up a meet at my squat on the north end before nine bells this morning, but she never showed. Then I start hearing that there was some sort of trouble on this end, so I thought I'd come see if maybe she'd been delayed by it... Looks as though I'm not far wrong, either."

"Mistress Hawke is ... indisposed for the time being," the guard said flatly. "Maybe you should just come back later. _Much_ later."

"Surely. No moss off my rock," the dwarf was answering blithely, when Fenris heard Varric's voice.

"I'll be dipped in nug-shit. Is that Paragon Sweat I smell?" The awe-filled tone in Varric's question made Fenris blink - and he grinned just a tiny bit - wishing he could see the dwarf's face. But if Varric was back, that meant Isabela would be back, too, and he had no desire to resume their fight. He considered closing his eyes to pretend he was asleep, but decided that might be tempting fate. So far, the drain had been low and steady, but he _was_ starting to feel a little woozy, as the mage had warned. Instead, he went back to studying Hawke's face, memorizing every little scar and line to keep him company in the long nights alone by the fire in Danarius' mansion.

* * *

><p>Varric checked as he and Isabella entered the wide space outside the Clinic, sniffing the air and scanning the area eagerly. He spotted the corpulent, red-nosed dwarf being ejected - none-to-gently - from the Clinic doors, and smiled broadly. Hurrying forward, with Isabela trailing in his wake, he waded through the refugee militia and caught Carida's eye. <em>I'll take this<em>, he nodded at her.

At the same time, Isabela passed over a small carry basket filled with dusty wine bottles cushioned with straw. "These need to go inside - where Anders can get to them when he calls for them," she said, craning her neck to look inside. _Quite a cosy set-up - too bad Hawke's not awake to enjoy it. Damn you, Fenris - it was for your benefit, you ungrateful bastard._ She spun on her heel and stalked back to where Varric had approached the old dwarf.

"I'll be dipped in nug-shit. Is that Paragon Sweat I smell?" he said to the other dwarf, waving him over to the rough-hewn window overlooking the Kirkwall channel. "I thought you couldn't get that whiskey anywhere outside Orzammar, by royal decree?" he said in a lower voice.

The older dwarf eyed him speculatively for a moment, then grunted and followed him to the gap in the stone wall. "Aye, the old king had declared the brew to be nigh on Paragon status - locked me into an exclusive contract in the Diamond Quarter - couldn't even serve it in Tapsters. Then I made the mistake of supporting Harrowmont in that dust-up over the throne after Endrin went to sleep with the Stone. Afterwards, that deepstalker Bhelen made it crystal that neither I or my brew were going to be around much longer so I decided to see what the surface was like. But yer face is familiar, boy. Tethras, ain't yer? Yer father and I had dealings upon a time, until the family was exiled. Ye have his looks."

Varric looked rather surprised at the brewmaster's shrewd observation, but nodded amiably. "You have me at a disadvantage, messere. Varric Tethras, weaver of tales, at your service. Might I know your name, and what your errand is?"

"Oh, yer a cautious one!" the older dwarf chuckled. "I was just comin' to see if I could locate that Hawke woman - she was nosing around after me yesterday, so I thought I'd return the favor. No idea what a Hightowner wench would want with the likes of me, though. Ye saw what answer I got from _that_ lot," he nodded toward the clinic doors, where Carida was still watching him with crossed arms and a decidedly sour look on her face. He shook his head and looked back at Varric. "Why is it when the humans see one of us all they can think is Carta? If that was the case, we'd be running Thedas by now."

"I keep trying to educate them," Varric said deprecatingly, "but it's slow going. At least a few of them now believe that some dwarves are merchants, too. And I'm sorry, but I still didn't catch your name..." he grinned and moved a little closer to the other dwarf, who suddenly became aware of the immense gulf of open space that lay only feet behind him. "There's been some nasty business here this morning and me and my friends are all kind of _on edge_, if you take my point."

The brewmaster licked his lips and looked from Varric's bland smile to where Isabela was leaning against the other wall of the embrasure, ostentatiously cleaning her nails with one of her daggers. She flashed him a wicked smile. "Had any dealings with the Coterie while you've been in Darktown? Maybe selling them information along with your black market brew?" she purred, looking at him over the point of the blade.

The old dwarf shook his head and held out his hands. "Now, look here, the both of you," he hissed nervously, and all trace of the folksy banter had left his voice. "I have absolutely _no_ idea what's going on, or what has you all twisted up, but I've told you the truth. I got notice yesterday that this Hawke woman wanted to meet with me at my squat this morning to discuss some sort of business. When she didn't show, I thought I'd do some checking. My name is Jakdan, and I used to be brewmaster for King Endrin Aeuducan. Now maybe _you_ can put away your nug-sticker," he glared at Isabela, "and _you_ can stop threatening an old man," and he poked Varric in the chest with one stiff finger, then belched in his face for good measure.

Varric stared at him for a moment, then chuckled in genuine amusement. "You remind me of someone, Jakdan. And I think I know what Hawke wanted to discuss with you. Wait here just a minute, will you? Isabela, I'll be right back." He turned toward the clinic and hurried away. He was pretty sure he'd seen Hawke's travel pack in the clinic. As he left, he could hear Isabela starting to chat with Jakdan.

"So, is it true what they say about dwarven men who drink nothing but lichen ale?" she asked in a sultry voice. He didn't catch the rest of the conversation, but a few seconds later, Isabela's delighted laugh rang across the ceiling. Varric grinned, and then sighed. Hopefully they'd all have something to laugh about before long. And if he could facilitate Hawke's interrupted errand, maybe the laughter could be enhanced with a little liquid refreshment.

* * *

><p>"Hawke! Are you here - <em>here - here<em>? Can you hear me - _me - me_? I can't find you - _you -you_."

She jumped to her feet and moved up the shoreline to the inflow of the lake, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Anders," she shouted, "this way." She glanced over her shoulder at the spot where Malcolm had entered the lake and grinned. "Hurry!" she added. The glowworms dimmed slightly, but since she was far enough away, the noise did not frighten them enough to fully extinguish them. That meant she was able to see the mage a few minutes later as he rounded the final bend at a dead run, kicking up sheets of water as he came.

"_Maia_," he cried excitedly, floundering to a stop in front of her, coat and leggings soaking wet from the knees down. Panting hoarsely, he stared at her for one timeless moment then grabbed her, hugging her so tightly it made her ribs twinge. "Andraste be praised," he said raggedly. "I was so afraid I'd lost you..."

"Lost _me_? I thought _you_ were lost in a side passage somewhere," she managed to squeak. "Ow, put me down, Anders - I can't breathe and you're almost cracking my ribs." He gave a strangled laugh, and loosened his hold on her reluctantly, but he didn't let go completely - instead he softly ran his hands over her face then combed his fingers through her hair, repeating the motions over and over as if he was stroking a cat.

"Sorry, beloved, I couldn't help myself," he said finally, lowering his arms to her waist and hugging her again, lightly. "I knew I'd find you here, but I just wasn't sure I'd find you in time."

"In time?" she repeated curiously. "In time for what? Time ... oh, shit, Papa," she continued frantically, and turned in Anders' arms to stare out at the lake. "He should have come back up by now ... Anders, come on - he must be in trouble," she said and broke free from his grasp to run to the shore. "Papa, _Papa_!" she yelled, and this time the glowworms went out, although the fire still guttered weakly in the alcove.

"Hawke, _no_," Anders cried, and dove after her, grabbing her by one arm as her form started to flicker and waver like smoke when she touched the water. "We've got to get you out of here, right now," he pleaded as she tugged impatiently forward. "It wasn't real. It may have looked like Malcolm, but I promise you, it wasn't him..."

She flung an angry glance at him over her shoulder. "Damnit, Anders, let go of me," she snarled. "He could be drowning." Stubbornly, the mage shook his head and kept a tight hold on her arm, deathly afraid of losing her to the vagaries and shifting currents of the Fade.

"And what do you mean, it's not real?" she continued, exasperated. "I suppose next you're going to say you didn't actually make love to me a while ago..." her voice trailed off and a puzzled look appeared on her face. "Wait a minute - how can you be wearing your clothes? I put on your shirt, and you left your coat for me to lie on ..." She looked past him at the fire, where Malcolm's robes had been spread to dry and saw nothing - just bare rock - and on the other side of the fire the folded coat and feathered pauldrons had also disappeared. Finally, she glanced down at herself and saw that she was fully dressed in her familiar mixed outfit of leather and armor. Her mouth sagged open in disbelief, and she stopped struggling against Anders' hold.

She shivered abruptly, and moved back into the shelter of his arms - away from the water, which now seemed slightly sinister. "Anders? What's happening? Nothing makes any sense all of a sudden..."

He held her tightly again, arms reassuringly solid and warm. "It's all right, love. Everything is going to be all right. What's the last thing you remember?" he said quietly. He remembered the warnings Marethari had given when they had gone into the Fade to recover Feynriel - how precarious the poor lad's mental state had been, and how easily he had shifted between sanity and madness. He had no intention of pushing Hawke into such a crisis.

"Well," she said hesitantly, "we were on our way to see Varric, and we'd discussed going out to Sundermount to see if the Dalish had more lyrium potions, and then to come here afterwards for a little privacy. So once we left the Hanged Man, that's what we did?" She ended on a questioning note, and looked up at Anders worriedly. "But it's odd, I don't remember leaving Kirkwall, or the trip up the mountain at all - just that when we got here, we ... well, it was incredible, just like that first time." She smiled warmly at the memory.

He smiled gently in response and kissed her forehead. "That it was, dear heart. What happened next?" _Oh, you rotten bastard_, he raged behind the smile. _I should have known better than to trust the word of a demon._

"Hmmm, then you said you had to leave for a few moments - I figured you were going to clean off in the lake. I was starting to wonder where you'd gone - I was about ready to go looking for you, in fact, when I heard someone coming down the watercourse. And it was my father ... being chased by a templar, just like in his journal." She continued talking for a few minutes longer, but Anders did not hear what she said, busy as he was hurling silent condemnation at the sly creature of the Fade.

"_**Cease your recriminations, mage. I promised she would not leave this pocket of the Beyond. I did not say how that would be accomplished. And need I remind you that she is the one who established this memory and gave it form? She has a very powerful mind, even in death. I had merely come to ascertain her whereabouts - making sure she was not in danger of encroaching on the demesne of another denizen - but as I approached, she conjured a shape and a role for me, and in order to ensure her continued presence, I had to accept the part. **_

"_**Believe me when I tell you I was far more comfortable with the second role, as her father was one of the few humans of Kirkwall who had drawn my notice in times past. It was much easier to fill in the gaps of her knowledge with information gleaned over the years rather than satisfying a basic animal need with scarce-remembered physical tricks. When it comes to intercourse, I much prefer the verbal kind."**_

_I ... suppose you're right_ Anders conceded grudgingly. _But don't you _ever_ touch her again - mind or body. Do you hear me?_

"_**Most assuredly. Nothing could be further from my thoughts - just so long as you keep your promise to me. Now, I suggest you return your attention to the matter at hand - you have found your lover, but it is up to you to extricate her from the Beyond. I would also advise you to be quick about it, as she is losing her hold on the fabric of this space - and the other denizens have noticed you both."**_

Anders blinked and looked around. The fire was almost out, and the glowworms had yet to replace its light. Hawke was pulling urgently on his sleeve. "Anders, I thought I just heard something out in the lake - and it sounded big. What's happening? There's never been any hint of trouble here before." The quiver in her voice, which was normally so casual even in the face of darkspawn and abominations, snapped him out of his daze. There was no more time for the gentle approach.

"Here's the short version, love. We were ambushed just outside the clinic by those Coterie thugs Varric warned us about and you were, ah... knocked unconscious with a very bad head wound. They had a templar with them, and evidently he found and drank all the lyrium in the clinic. He drained me completely - even Justice was thrown out of contact - so I had no choice but to drag you into the cellars and lock the door. We were stuck in there for a long time before the others came - and by then just a regular healing wasn't going to do the trick. Instead I had to come looking for you - and I found you here."

"Are you saying this is the Fade?" Hawke said incredulously. "But it looks - it _felt_ so real. And it was so nice to see Papa again," she finished sadly.

"Well, you just have a very vivid and powerful imagination," Anders said soothingly. "But now it seems that I've upset the balance of your dreaming, and it could get very messy, not to mention dangerous, unless we wake up soon," and he gestured over her shoulder to where the small fire was guttering - the pool of light it cast constricting rapidly. This time, they both heard the splashing from the lake, accompanied by a gruesome, bubbling chuckle. What made it worse was the secondary noises they heard coming down the stream from the inlet - footfalls and snarling accompanied by the scraping grate of claws on rock.

"I can believe that," Hawke agreed fervently. "Do you have any ideas on how we're supposed to get out of here?" She reached over her shoulders for her blades, but Anders touched her hands into stillness, and held them clasped in his own.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he breathed, leaning down to brush her lips with his. "Remember all those Orlesian romances where the fair maiden is awakened by a kiss?" When she nodded doubtfully, he smiled at her. "Wake up, love. Take us home. Remember, you promised you'd never leave me alone in the dark again." And suddenly he was kissing her desperately, pulling her body against his, moaning quietly into her mouth. After one delirious moment of enjoyment, she returned it just as fiercely, lacing her fingers behind his head and pulling him deeper into the kiss - not caring anymore what might be stalking them in the growing darkness. _This better not be another dream... and that makes three, now, Anders..._

* * *

><p>Suddenly, Hawke's breast moved under their linked hands, and Fenris' eyes snapped open. In spite of his best efforts, he had started to drift. "Hawke?" he breathed in fragile hope and wonder. Her head swiveled in his direction, and her eyes opened slightly.<p>

"Fenris?" she said in a questioning whisper.

"Hawke!" Fenris shouted joyfully, smiling fully for the first time he could remember.

Anders' fingers tightened on his, and he reluctantly tore his gaze from Hawke's face to look at the mage, whose eyes were knowing ... and sympathetic. He knew how much Hawke loved the man. He also knew he could never hope to have a share of that love. But, at least for this moment, he found it was not so hard a thing to bear. _"Macte virtute, Magister Anders,"*_ he said gravely, and nodded once in respect.

"_Et tu, Fenris,"_ Anders replied simply. _"Fortes fortuna juvat."*_

* * *

><p>* Well done, Master Anders.<p>

* You too, Fenris. Fortune favors the brave."

Musical accompaniment for this chapter: "Waking the Witch" by Kate Bush. Listen really carefully in the intro - you'll hear Anders, among others - which others is open to personal interpretation. I noticed Leandra, a Chantry sister, and probably Malcolm ... Also, the last part of the song is very much a take on the Chantry's attitude towards mages.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** So, Hawke is finally back among the living, but she needs a little more time to recover fully. In the meantime, there are a few other players still unaccounted for... Over at DAWC, one topic of discussion was what various Thedan characters would do if they suddenly found themselves in our world. I stand by my vision of Fenris finding catharsis in the pit at a death metal concert, but another guess I had was that Aveline would become police commissioner of Chicago, or maybe even New York, in quick order. And why not? She's already pretty much worked her way up from being a beat cop in Kirkwall - and now as Guard Captain she has a multiple murder to investigate, some suspects to interrogate and a perp to apprehend. I wonder how Donnic is at playing "good cop"?

**Sips, Nips and Snorts**

Varric had found the lyrium-infused bilge hoop in Hawke's travel pack, as he'd expected. There had also been many intriguing trinkets and items from which he virtuously averted his gaze, while making quick note of anything he'd need to discuss with his partner later, if ... _when_, he corrected himself, she was ... awake, for lack of a better word. He still couldn't bring himself to admit it, even to himself, even though the brutal truth had been all too obvious even before Blondie had said anything.

Her "to-do" list in particular was _quite_ interesting, because only a few things were marked off so far. Towards the top was one which worried him slightly, but maybe it was just a joke. _"M's head, spike?"_ Then again, knowing Hawke... He shook his head and re-rolled the tiny scroll, burying it in the bottom of the pack. Some things he would _not_ be discussing with her, he decided.

As he turned toward the doors, his gaze fell on the eerie tableau of the mage and the elf bracketing Hawke's body. The light from Fenris' brands had suffused the mage almost entirely, and Hawke was glowing, too. Having received Anders' warning not to touch any of them from Carida when he and Isabela had returned, he passed by without stopping, feeling his skin crawling.

The weird magic shit was just too alien to his nature - and the idea of wandering around pointlessly in some shifting landscape when one dreamed - instead of just sensibly sleeping like the Stone, bothered him at a deeply ingrained level. _Just bring her back to us_ he was thinking when the light abruptly winked out and Fenris shouted _"Hawke!"_ in an exultant voice that rang around the room.

Varric pivoted back towards the table, and felt a broad grin spreading across his face. Hawke's eyes were open, Broody was _smiling_, and Blondie's face was glowing with an emotion so profound that it felt indecent to look at him for long. But Varric sensed there was something else underlying that happiness, something implacable, and a shudder tingled at the base of the storyteller's skull and worked its way down his spine.

Almost immediately, people started swarming forward into the clinic, cheering and chattering in excitement. Anders' gaze swung upward and darkened, and Varric's sense of imminent danger grew, redoubling when the mage stretched out his hand and Fenris clasped it, triggering his brands with minimal hesitation.

Varric acted unthinkingly, throwing out his arms and facing the crowd. "No!" he cried, using every trick of vocal control and projection in his repertoire. "You must leave her be for now, please! Wait outside, and we'll update you as soon as we can! The Healer still has work to do."

The vigilantes complied almost immediately, but there were beaming smiles, and several of them called out blessings on Hawke and Anders both. Those who had been stationed inside the clinic and had seen the interplay between mage and elf even praised Fenris in Andraste's name, which made the elf shake his head, but Anders could see he was pleased. Getting a grip on his instinctual urge to lash out, the mage changed the focus of his spell.

After that frozen instant of fear, Varric felt a whispering stir in the air behind him and realized Anders had done nothing more drastic than throw up a barrier of force between his section of the clinic and the group of well-wishers.

"Just keep them away for now, Varric," the mage called, voice slightly distorted by the effect of the spell. "Until Aveline finds out who was behind this attack, I'm afraid there aren't many people I trust any closer than this. The Coterie men said something about wanting Hawke for ransom, but the archers and the templar point to something else. Not that I have anything against Carida or the others down here right now, of course, but it would just be too easy for someone posing as a refugee to slip in and try finishing the job."

Varric nodded in agreement with the mage's reasoning as he turned back to the trio of tables, staring at Hawke's no longer expressionless face and feeling the horrible knot of sorrow that had choked his heart changing to one of anxiety. That was exactly the suspicion he'd harbored about Jakdan at first. After all, Hawke hadn't exactly endeared herself to everybody she'd had dealings with over the years. The planning and the marksmanship were too precise for average Lowtown thugs - obviously the Coterie shake-up had been used as cover - or perhaps even implemented when more senior members had refused to collaborate. No, this stank of Hightown and power - but what faction?

"Unconscious because of a head-wound, eh?" Hawke muttered peevishly, struggling to rise. Both Fenris and Anders made protesting noises, but she merely glared at them and sat up, batting aside their hands as they reached for her. She looked around blearily, then blinked in surprise as she saw how many people were grouped at the clinic doors.

"All right, Anders, what _really_ happened? Me being knocked out in yet another Darktown scuffle is _definitely_ not important enough to warrant half of the Undercity coming to the clinic armed to the teeth." She smiled at the mage to take the sting out of her question, but her expression changed to one of dismay as he collapsed backwards onto his table with a pain-filled groan.

"_This_ is why I never wanted to fall in love with a hero," Anders cried in a tragic voice, and Varric started laughing in relief. "They're so bloody humble they can't understand just how important they really are," the mage continued loud enough to be heard at the front of the clinic.

"Well, it takes a hero to love a hero, you know," Lirene called back with some asperity before she and Carida began to shoo everyone out of the clinic.

"Come on, you lot - you heard the Healer - we still have guard duty, and it's vital we stay sharp," the guard admonished.

"Maker's balls - will _someone_ please tell me what is going on?" Hawke grumped, turning to Fenris who, although he had not joined in the laughter, still had a brilliant smile on his face as he looked at her. _She's alive, Hawke's _alive_, and I helped save her._

"You were dead, Hawke," the warrior said simply, pointing at her chest, where the leather was stained and tacky with dried blood. "Crossbow at fairly short range." _Why is she looking so shocked? Surely she knew..._

"Dead?" Hawke repeated faintly. She paled and swayed a bit. Sobering abruptly, Anders sat up behind her, putting his arms around her and supporting her weight against his chest. He flashed Fenris an irritated look, but it was obvious the elf had realized his mistake.

"I apologize, Hawke," Fenris said with a grimace. "I should have phrased that a bit more cautiously. Forgive my bluntness." He started to push himself off the table, cursing inwardly at how inept he invariably was in his interactions with Hawke. "I should go, anyway. Aveline might be able to use my abilities to help persuade the prisoners to be more forthcoming as to who set this ambush."

Anders relented. "Fenris saved your life, Hawke," he said firmly. "If it weren't for his willingness to share the power of his brands, I couldn't have healed you or even entered the Fade. I honestly don't know what I would have done if he hadn't ..." his voice grew choked for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. "We both owe him more than I can say." The emotion pent in the mage's voice made Fenris pause, as did the small hand that caught at his elbow.

"Then I'm forever in your debt, Fenris," Hawke said softly, and squeezed his forearm. It was a light pressure, but her touch seemed to burn through his armor as if it wasn't there. "I'll stop by the mansion as soon as I can, so we can talk. But for now, would you do me another huge favor?" He risked a quick glance over his shoulder at her. She was still pale, but the look on her face was a mix of determination and anger - luckily not directed at him. He nodded. "Then head on up to the Keep and scare the _shit_ out whoever Aveline has locked up," she said vindictively.

Anders leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes widened, then she chuckled and nudged the mage in the ribs sharply enough to make him grunt. "And take your hammer with you. Evidently I need to ask Varric to see about getting someone to repair your sword." She squeezed his arm once more and released him.

He nodded gravely to her, then grinned nastily at Anders. "Low blow, mage. Is our truce so easily ended, then? I may just have to take my wine back home with me - along with my lyrium."

Anders made a horrified face at his threat. "Flaming Andraste, no! Force of habit, honestly. Look, leave the wine and I promise I'll only rant about templars ever other day. You can even still call me 'abomination' - just swear you'll limit it to twice a week? Deal?"

Solemnly, Fenris held out his hand. "Agreed."

The mage reached out with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth and shook the elf's hand firmly. "Then promise me one more thing, Fenris - do yourself a favor and get some rest before you go terrorize those Coterie thugs. You've expended a lot of energy today - and the reaction will probably hit you hard before long. You won't be very scary if you keel over in front of them."

Abruptly, Hawke placed both her hands around theirs and squeezed. "I don't believe this," she said impishly, smiling at both men with sparkling eyes and a bit of color coming back to her face. "The two of you - _joking_ with each other? I'm more than half convinced I'm still dreaming in the Fade. But I'll witness this and hold you both to your promises."

* * *

><p>Varric had watched the by-play between the three and was shaking his head in disbelief as Fenris approached him. <em>This has the potential to put "Hard in Hightown" to shame<em> he thought gleefully.

The elf passed through the mage's barrier as if it wasn't even there, although Varric could see him shuddering slightly as he moved past it. He had a small secretive smile on his face as he approached the storyteller, and raised one eyebrow at the dwarf's speculative expression. He knew what ideas must be spinning and generating in that mind.

"I think I need not point out to you that it would be inadvisable for any of this to appear in one of your stories, Varric," the former slave said in a low voice that held just a hint of warning. "Some things are simply beyond belief, even for a tale about the inimitable Hawke and her odd band of misfits."

"I haven't a clue as to what you're implying, Broody," Varric countered loftily. "I'm much more interested in hearing about that assignation of Isabela's you interrupted this morning. Who was the lucky man? Will you be dueling for her honor, or is this something better left in her capable hands?" He shut his mouth abruptly when Fenris glared at him.

"Isabela's affairs are her own, Varric," he growled. "I have no claim on her, and she has made it clear that she does not expect anything from me. We are ... friends, nothing more." But the elf's brows drew down unhappily, and he muttered something in Arcanum that Varric did not understand. _"Semper alis volat propriis."*_

"All right, Fenris - none of my business, granted - but you have to admit this morning has been, well ... I was just trying to ..." the dwarf waved his arms, completely at a loss for words, and glanced back at the table where Hawke and Anders were now cuddled tightly together, talking earnestly in low voices - or rather, Hawke was talking, and Anders was listening with a frown on his face. He sighed, and Fenris slapped him on the shoulder, urging him on towards the door.

"You need not say more, Varric. We all felt the same. I do owe Isabela an apology, however. I just hope she will accept it without throwing any more knives at me."

Varric gave a surprised bark of laughter. "Oh-ho! Is that why it took you so long to catch up this morning?" When the elf nodded, the storyteller grinned. "Okay, now _that's_ just too good to leave out of a story."

When they left the clinic, Varric stopped to talk with Lirene and Carida. He knew that Hawke would soon be trying to get right back to her day's interrupted schedule. He also knew Anders would do his absolute best to prevent her, but that might not be enough. Whatever their other philosophical differences, in this instance, he agreed completely with the mage.

"Ladies, if you could do your best to sit on serah Hawke for the rest of the day and keep her inside the clinic, I think we'd all feel a bit more comfortable. Until Aveline has dug into this more thoroughly, it's just too dangerous. Hawke has been targeted, and there's no telling where the next strike will come from. And when she asks, please pass on that I've taken over her latest quest." They both looked puzzled, but they agreed to convey the message.

When Varric paused for his conversation, Fenris drew a deep breath and continued over to the window embrasure where Isabela was talking with a stout, white-bearded dwarf - the same one who had been turned away from the clinic earlier, he realized when he drew closer and could hear his voice. Even though her back was towards him, Isabela stiffened and turned as Fenris approached, evidently catching his almost soundless footsteps. She said nothing, however, merely waiting for him, arms deliberately crossed under her magnificent breasts.

"Hawke is back with us," he said quietly. "Anders did as he said he would." He thought he noticed a slight softening in Isabela's expression, but that was all. It was what made playing Wicked Grace with the woman such an irresistible challenge. His next words, however, cracked the impassive facade. "Isabela, I am a great fool. I am judgmental and lack any sense of tact. Nor do I see much chance of anything changing. I am what circumstances have made me, after all. Still, I must ask: will you accept my apology for my words earlier this morning?"

She eyed him speculatively. "That depends, I suppose. Words are easy enough to say, and you sure do use a lot of them. Sadly, after this morning, I don't think I'll have much influence left with Bran anymore," she pouted dramatically, then she laughed. "But he was getting boring anyway - no spontaneity and definitely no imagination. So that leaves the rest of my day free of ... commitments." She licked her lips. "How about you come back to the Hanged Man with me and apologize in a more _personal_ manner?"

Fenris swallowed, then unexpectedly smiled back at her and nodded, accepting her challenge. After all, his whole body was still tingling with pleasure generated from walking through the shield spell Anders had created from his brands, and the mage _had_ urged him to get some rest. It would be a shame to waste such an unexpected bonus by going back to the mansion alone.

"Ah, Jakdan, you're still here. Good," Varric joined the small group. "I'll extend an invitation to you, as well. Hawke and I have a business proposition, and I hate talking business without something to drink close at hand. How about you?"

"If you're buying, I'm in," the older dwarf replied quickly. "I haven't been able to brew anything remotely potable down here, and I'm mighty sick of having to go to Lowtown just to find cleanish water. If this offers a chance at regaining some of my reputation and getting out of Darktown as well? Lead the way, boy."

As the four headed towards the lift to Lowtown, Varric mentioned the task he had given Carida and Lirene. Isabela sighed, completely serious for once. "I wish them all sorts of luck, because if she gets hurt again, I don't want to be anywhere near Kirkwall when Anders retaliates."

Equally serious, the others agreed. When Jakdan looked mystified they took turns trying to explain.

"Besides being an apostate, Blondie - the Healer - is also a Grey Warden," Varric started. "Don't let the skinny frame fool you - he's stronger than almost anybody I've ever met. I bet he'd even give a horn-head pause in a straight-up fight."

"In _addition_ to being an apostate, Anders is also possessed of an unstable Fade spirit that has become warped, and normally has a most formidable array of powers at his disposal," Fenris chimed in, unable to stop himself from the ingrained response. "I will concede he usually employs only the beneficial ones, but the line for any mage is a dangerously thin one."

"Honestly, it makes me crazy to listen to the two of you," Isabela finished with a snort. "Obviously, you both were standing behind the door when the Maker was handing out hearts. Anders isn't dangerous because he's a mage or a Grey Warden, you idiots. He's dangerous because he's in love."

* * *

><p>Isabela and Fenris had taken their leave almost immediately - the excitement singing between them had been almost palpable. Varric bid them thanks and farewell, managing not to laugh until he was sure they were far enough down the hallway not to hear him, then locked the door to the tavern proper. He wanted no interruptions during his negotiations with Jakdan. As with most of Hawke's oddball ideas, this one held the potential to bring in a fair amount of coin.<p>

The two dwarves sat in front of the fire grate, ensconced in comfortable chairs and well supplied with a couple pitchers of dwarven ale apiece. A small unbroached wooden firkin emblazoned with the crest of House Aeducan occupied the small table between them. Jakdan patted it affectionately. "This little beauty is a long way from home," he said with a smile for Varric. He studied the smaller notation under the crest and grunted. "She's old enough to be out on her own, though. One of my earliest batches, actually."

"Aye," Varric replied with a sad smile. "My brother had it smuggled out of Orzammar - nearly emptied the coffers for a year. Even if we couldn't live there anymore, he was determined to recreate as much of the city as he could here. This was to be opened in celebration when we got back from the Deep Roads, because Bartrand said we'd be able to buy kegs of it afterwards." Varric sighed, and then grimaced and took a deep pull from his mug of ale.

"After he left me and Hawke - and Blondie and the elf - to rot below the Deep Roads, I promised myself I'd hang on to it until I tracked the nug-humping son-of-a-bitch down - _sorry, mother_. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to drink it all by myself, but I certainly planned on trying." Varric looked at Jakdan, who was nodding in understanding. "However, now I'm thinking I have a better use for it. Let's talk business, Jakdan, and if we come to an agreement, we'll broach it tonight."

The brewmaster grinned and picked up his mug, tipping it against Varric's in a toast. "That's a much better way to treat a Paragon," he said approvingly.

* * *

><p>Aveline growled in frustration, watching yet another urchin run off with a copper from her dwindling supply clutched in his hand. Nobody had seen the templar, because once word had gotten round of the massacre in the south end, everybody had holed up, afraid the violence would spread. Even letting them know that the responsible parties had been apprehended did little to lessen the oppressive atmosphere of fear pervading these sewer holes. How Hawke could stand spending so much time down here was beyond understanding.<p>

The amount of obstruction she continued to encounter was becoming more and more aggravating, as well. The Kirkwall natives distrusted her because she was a jumped-up Fereldan, yet once word had gotten out about her name the Fereldan refugees wanted nothing to do with her because her father had been Orlesian. And nobody in Darktown had any use for the guard at all.

The flame-haired warrior swore softly and tugged at her neck guard where it was chafing. There was just too much crime in twisted streets of Lowtown and the harbor shanties as it was. Add on to that all the Hightown families who insisted on additional patrols to keep them safe from imagined terrors - and the increasingly tight purse-strings of the Viscount - there was just no way she could justify patrols in Darktown, too; not even to help Hawke and Anders keep the refugees' desperation from tipping over into crime.

She sighed and dusted her hands together. "Let's leave it, Harley," she said quietly to her companion. "We're not going to find out anything more down here, and I've still got that whole gang to process. Maybe Donnic has had better luck - I just hope somebody knows where we can find that templar when he's not on a lyrium binge."

* * *

><p>"I <em>have<em> to know who was killed, Anders. And for that, I'll need to speak with Lirene," Hawke said firmly. "She keeps tabs on all the refugees. If they had family, we'll distribute some coin from the cache, just to tide them over. I hate the idea of more kids ending up by default with Evelina - she's stretched thin enough as it is. We should go through the miner's lists and find families who can accept another child or two. And I suppose older children could be apprenticed."

Anders frowned and started to retort, then just shook his head and sighed. "Evelina's not the only one stretched thin, love," he reminded her gently, hugging her again. He couldn't keep his hands off her - feeling an overwhelming urge to touch her constantly in order to reassure himself that she was really alive. "Look, Lirene knows you'll want to help. Just rest for a bit longer, then I promise I'll have her come in to update us both." He saw the bleak expression in her eyes, and knew it was apparent on his own face as well. "It's just as much my fault as yours, beloved," he whispered. "If they hadn't been here looking for healing, they'd still be alive," he concluded softly, and held her as she cried.

When she had recovered a bit, the mage made a long arm and snagged one of Fenris' bottles of wine from the basket which had been placed under the table's edge. "I want you to drink some of this now," he said quietly. "You lost a lot of blood, and I don't know any way to restore it, other than through time and rest. Try to drink the whole bottle - and then sleep, if you can. I'm here, and nobody is coming in the clinic past our people. You'll be safe, I promise."

Hawke sat up again, and obediently took several swallows from the bottle once they had opened it, then passed it to Anders. "I feel terribly disrespectful - drinking it like this," she said with a small smile. "But I suppose if Fenris can drink straight from the bottle, I can, as well. Just don't tell my mother."

Anders grinned, and raised the bottle in a mocking salute, before taking a healthy swig himself. "I will happily drink to that," he said, then he passed it back to her. "Now, finish it off, and let's both get some rest." In short order the bottle was emptied and they lay together on a couple of cot pallets spread on the table to make it a bit more comfortable.

Several quiet minutes of listening contentedly to the reassuring sound of Hawke's slow, steady breathing combined with the familiar ambient background noise of Darktown had Anders drifting on the edges of sleep. Now that Fenris and his lyrium were gone, the mage was feeling bone-tired and lassitude spread through his limbs. With a deep sigh, he hugged Hawke close and closed his eyes.

It seemed as if he'd only had them closed for a moment before Hawke began struggling and thrashing, mumbling incoherently at first, then suddenly giving a short scream of fear and anger. He jerked awake, and brushed a calming hand along her cheek. "It's just a dream, dear heart, I'm here. You're safe," he murmured soothingly, stroking her cheek again. "Go back to sleep."

And then he felt it - a small, tentative stirring of power that crept down his arm and into his fingers. "Sleep, beloved," he breathed, focusing on the whisper in his blood, scarcely daring to hope. Hawke ceased struggling almost at once, and her breath was even and slow once again. Anders closed his eyes on tears of utter relief. Everything really was going to be all right again.

* * *

><p>With a guttural moan and a final spasming thrust, his muscles abruptly relaxed. Fenris tossed his head, flipping sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes before collapsing sideways to lie next to Isabela, whose chest was heaving with exertion. It took almost all of his strength just to raise one hand to drop loosely on her thigh in a gentle caress.<p>

"Apology ... accepted," she said between gasps, then gave a throaty chuckle when Fenris laughed weakly. He mustered enough energy to kick the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets down off the foot of the bed and then blew gently across her stomach and breasts. "Oooh, that feels lovely," she purred. After a few seconds, she raised up and dragged open one of the shutters on the window over the headboard. The afternoon breeze - redolent of acrid smoke from the foundry district but still wonderfully cool - streamed in over them.

She lay down again, turning on her side to drape an arm across the elf's chest. "And now I owe _you_ an apology, pet," she said, trailing her fingertips idly across the swirling brands engraved on his torso. "I've never been one for love poetry or being tied to any one individual for more than a little while - being sold as a child bride to a merchant who only wants you for the prestige of your mother's bloodline is a sure death for any foolish daydreams about true love and eternal soulmates." She kept her eyes averted from his, instead studying the silvery lines carved into his skin.

Suddenly, as if she'd found some message in the pattern of his brands, she smiled wistfully and planted a kiss on the point of his chin, finally gazing fully into his eyes. "But all this time watching Hawke and Anders ... there were occasions when I thought I'd almost be willing to give up the sea if I could have even a pale echo of what they have. And very briefly, I hoped that you, well ... I thought that maybe you and I could do just that."

"As did I," Fenris admitted, and captured her hand with his own, bringing it to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles. "Sadly, you and I are too alike, Isabela. Where Hawke remains innocent, we have become cynical. And where the mage maintains belief, we have become jaded. No matter what happens to her, Hawke retains a sense of trust in almost everyone that I used to mistake for naivete." He snorted, and Isabela chuckled again.

"I used to think she was hopelessly naive, myself," the pirate admitted. "Every time she turned down coin or gave up what she'd gotten to the poor sods that inevitably gathered round, I would get so angry with her... But after seeing the way all those people pulled together today, just on word of mouth?" she shook her head and sighed. "I wonder if anybody besides Hawke would come at the run for me; say if Castillon turned up suddenly? I'd bet the take from a Wicked Grace night that Aveline wouldn't."

Fenris pulled on her hand and slid his other hand under her side so she rolled on top of him. "She would come, Isabela. But not as quickly as I," he said warmly, and tilted his head up so he could kiss her. They continued kissing for several minutes - taking it more slowly this time - letting the sensation build. Suddenly Fenris yawned widely. Isabela giggled at the guilty look on his face.

"I suppose it's time you headed off to Hightown anyway, pet," she said teasingly, rolling her hips against his. "You've still got to help Lady Manhands scare the Coterie lads. Speaking of which, I found some goodies while I was looting that you might want to take to her - they could prove useful." She kissed him again, passionately this time - biting his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood, then abruptly rolled over and off the mattress, rising to stand beside the bed.

"I'd like it if you came back when you're done, if you'd care to," she said, raking his body with an appreciative gaze. Then, to Fenris' surprise, her golden complexion took on a faint rosy hue as she gazed at him with a slightly lost look in her eyes. "I can't declare undying love for you, Fenris, but I will say this: one day, I _will_ have a ship again, and when I do there is no one I'd rather have by my side as first mate." She turned away and busied herself with the wash basin on the rough dresser, shoulders hunched and tension obvious in her stance.

Silently, Fenris rose and crossed to stand behind her. He kissed the back of her neck then gently trailed his fingers down her spine. "I would be very glad to return this evening," he said in a husky whisper. "And although I am not a very accomplished sailor, I would be quite willing to face both sea and storms if you wish it." Isabela's shoulders straightened, and the tension in her back eased. "However, I have no idea what the duties of a first mate are," he continued seriously. "Are you sure you would not rather have me on board as cabin boy?" He playfully squeezed one rounded buttock.

Isabela squealed and turned with a happy laugh, pressing up against him with a delicious wriggle. "Don't be ridiculous. The captain can't bed the cabin boy - too much difference in rank - terrible for discipline. I'd have a mutiny on my hands before we even left the harbor. Now go ahead and get dressed while I bundle those bits of information I mentioned. And, Fenris? Hurry back."

* * *

><p>"Not a single one of the them claims to know more than the original plan, ma'am," Donnic reported crisply, standing stiffly at attention in front of Aveline's desk. Upon her return to the barracks, she had peremptorily demanded his presence in her office for a briefing. He had followed her in, then watched uneasily as she had discarded her shield and sword without even putting them on the arming rack in an uncharacteristic display of temper.<p>

"Bollocks, Guardsman," she snapped, green eyes seeming to flash. "What about the one I marked out? He knows _something_ - I can feel it." She rocked her chair back against the wall so she could prop her feet on her desk. "At ease, Donnic," she continued in a slightly less annoyed tone. "It's not you I'm angry with ... it's just this morass of politics and conniving, good-for-nothing aristocrats who won't even _acknowledge_ the horrible disparity in this city that drives me to the edge sometimes. Whoever planned this had money, influence and motive - which means almost the entirety of Hightown is suspect with the exception of some of the whores in the Rose."

Donnic started to chuckle, then turned it into a cough when she raised an eyebrow at him. He relaxed a bit, however, and nodded at her appraisal. "The others are just common thugs who were hoping to get some coin and swaggering rights, but that one is a little brighter than he lets on, guaranteed. I just figured you'd probably be able to get more out of him - being in a better position to offer leniency if he cooperates. He seems awfully nervous to me, like he knows there will be repercussions from today's botched work. The one bit of information he did volunteer was that the four men killed outside the Clinic had been added to the roster recently, and although they gave token obedience to Corren, they didn't make much secret of the fact they looked down on him. Too bad we couldn't have taken one of them alive."

"I know," Aveline concurred. "But they hurt Hawke, and that is one instance where I won't fault the others for letting emotion take over. I don't think I could have restrained myself, either; she's a dear girl and special as they come. It took a cold bastard to plan an ambush like that, never mind countenancing the murder of so many innocents." She sighed deeply and rolled her shoulders a few times, then leaned her head from side to side, cracking the vertebrae in her neck. Finally, with a solid thump, she brought the front legs of the chair back down to the floor and stood.

"All right, I'd better go see him," she said. "Grab some parchment and start writing up a preliminary report of what happened for me. Something like this needs to be brought to the attention of the Viscount, and it'll need to be worded properly to get past Bran's grabby little paws. I'm going to make sure whoever did this hangs - and I don't need some snake with connections finding out and getting it rescinded."

Aveline pulled off her gauntlets and dropped them on the desk with a soft clashing of metal. She quickly finger combed her hair into a tighter-than-usual tail, which made her angular face appear even more severe than usual. "How do I look, then, Guardsman?" she asked Donnic, straightening and glowering at him menacingly.

He saluted, then grinned saucily. "Terrifying, ma'am," he said. _Beautiful as always, Aveline._ "He'll talk."

She gave him a rare smile in return, which made his pulse jump. "Oh, aye, I've no doubt."

* * *

><p>The pitchers were long empty, but the firkin was still unopened. They had come to the delicate part of the negotiations, and so far, neither one was budging.<p>

"Par'gon Schw...Sweat," Jakdan growled insistently for the third time, thumping his empty mug on the table for emphasis.

"Bhelen's men would have your head on a pike before a month was out, you old git," Varric snarled in response. "And ours would probably be keeping yours company - we've already gotten Bhelen's nose out of joint by rescuing Renvil Harrowmont a few years back - no need to rub it in nug droppings by reminding him of your existence. Besides, you don't have all the same ingredients as the original brew anyway, right? I say we name it for Hawke - it's her idea, her hoop, her recovery we'll be drinking it in celebration for." He blinked a second, not sure if what he'd just said made any sense, but then he shrugged. _He_ knew what he meant. "Plus, it's getting you out of Darktown and into a paid position here in the Hanged Man," he finished decisively.

"All right, then," the brewmaster said peevishly. "If you're so much in love with the lass, what are you going to call it? Hawke's Blood? Good luck getting anyone to drink _that_."

Varric rubbed his chin for a moment. _Hawke's Blood, hmmmm. No, sounds more like a wine that Broody would import from Tevinter._ Then he remembered something Blondie had told him in desperation when he'd been pestering the mage for information on how it was between himself and Hawke once they'd finally gotten the relationship working. No intimate details had been volunteered, of course, which was what he'd really been fishing for, but the tidbit a hotly blushing Anders had offered instead ... well, now. He rolled it around in his mind for a moment. Yes, it was perfect.

When he told Jakdan the name and then shared the story behind it - after making him swear to never reveal it - the older dwarf laughed uproariously and forgot his complaints. "Aye, lad, with a name like that - it'll sell. I'd best be getting started on a batch right away so it'll have time to age. Of course, the lyrium in the bilge hoop is the key - the magic speeds the fermentation process amazingly, and that means distillation can happen sooner, too. I'd say I'll probably have enough ready so we can start offering it by the end of the next month. But since you've warned me about not spreading the story behind the name for safety's sake, I feel it's only fair that I warn you about a special property of the brew - or rather, a special side effect from the lyrium that leaches into the brew."

Varric was initially concerned, but as Jakdan elaborated he began to grin, instead. "You're positive it won't harm anybody - no lasting effects like the templars get?" he asked, double checking.

"Safe as mother's milk, more or less, although I wouldn't recommend drinking more than a few drams at a time - just like any other fine whiskey," the brewmaster reassured him. "Of course, nobody in Orzammar was ever affected by it, but we had a few Grey Wardens come through once, on their way to answer their Calling. Endrin decided they were worthy enough to have some Paragon Sweat before they died in the Deep Roads. I sat and listened to the three of them talk all night long after the leave-taking ceremony - and that's when I discovered that surfacers have an unusual reaction to it - and dwarves are immune."

At the brewmaster's qualified reassurance, Varric nodded. "Well, I don't think it's really necessary to let people know about it, then. It might actually improve a few things in the long run," he said with a sly wink for the other dwarf. "At the very least, it will make for some lively discussions around the table."

"So, we're in agreement? The bargain is sealed and the job is set?" Jakdan asked formally.

"Sealed in the Stone, set in the mortar," Varric confirmed, equally formal, and shook the brewmaster's hand. "I'll let Corff know in the morning, and we'll get a room set aside for your gear and equipment right away."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Jakdan said, stroking the firkin of contraband whiskey gently. "What say we christen the new with a toast of the old?"

* * *

><p>One guttering torch placed high on the wall behind the prisoner provided the only light in the dank cell - one of a few dozen located in the bowels of the Viscount's Keep - grim reminders of the former tenants and their rule. The tall, rough-featured guardsman stood with his back against the door, and his face was shiny with sweat as he watched his superior stalk towards the Coterie man chained to the low-backed wooden stool in the middle of the floor. In spite of his surroundings, the prisoner had a maintained a sullen, stubborn silence, save to deny any knowledge of who the primary instigator of the ambush at the clinic had been.<p>

Aveline took a deep breath and mastered the urge to throttle the man with her bare hands. Instead, she leaned very close to his face and growled. She didn't even say anything - she just bared her teeth and did a very credible imitation of a mabari getting ready to attack.

Donnic shuffled forward until he was almost next to her and held up one tentative hand in a cautionary gesture. "No, Guard Captain, please don't. We still need one of them alive, remember?" he said nervously, then stepped back abruptly as Aveline straightened up to glare at him.

_Good man. Perfectly timed. If only Wesley had had your sense of timing ... or at least the sense to duck _away_ from an attack instead of into one..._ "I don't really care anymore, Guardsman," she gritted, and turned her gaze back to their captive. "Hawke was my friend, and whoever had her killed is going to pay. Of course, if I can't find out who that is, then I'll just have to take my satisfaction where I can." She had just begun to lean forward again when there was a knock on the door.

"Maker's twice-damned, bloody ..." she snarled, and spun towards the door. Donnic moved quickly to open it. "I'll take care of it, ma'am," he said eagerly, obviously wanting to be elsewhere. That's when the prisoner finally broke.

"No," he shouted. "You can't leave me alone in here with this crazy bitch! I'll tell you what I know - just don't let her do anything to me. I didn't do anything wrong, I swear - I was there, right, but I didn't fight - never even drew my weapon."

While her back was to the prisoner, Aveline risked a tiny smile and a wink to Donnic, who didn't even blink acknowledgment. "Fine, then," she snarled. "I'll go see who's stupid enough to interrupt me when I'm about to mete out justice. Guardsman, if he changes his mind about finally coming clean, just let me know." She stalked through the door and slammed it behind her, but as it was swinging shut, she heard Donnic telling the prisoner just how lucky he was.

_And how lucky am I, to have such an able second?_ she thought with a smile. Then she saw who had knocked, and was instantly on edge again. _Shit, it still wasn't enough - I've failed again We didn't get there in time,_ she though bleakly. _Oh, Hawke, I'm so sorry. How am I going to tell Leandra?_

"Aveline," Fenris said solemnly. "If the prisoners are being uncooperative, I would like to offer my services - perhaps a display of what I can do with my brands might provide useful?" When she nodded woodenly, still numb with dashed hopes, he continued with a glint in his eyes. "Also, Hawke gave me explicit instructions to 'scare the shit' out of them, if possible." He grinned at the expressions that chased themselves across Aveline's face, and sidestepped easily when her eyes narrowed and she took a roundhouse swing at him.

"You absolute _prat_," she yelled, forgetting where she was for a moment. She recovered her composure in an instant, however, and simply grinned at Fenris. "She's really all right, then?" she whispered, and clenched her fists together with one short movement when he nodded affirmatively. "Thank the Maker," she breathed. "That family has suffered too many losses as it is."

"Have you had any luck finding out who orchestrated this little dance?" Fenris inquired, with a meaningful glance at the door she had just come through.

Aveline shook her head. "So far, they've all been run-of-the-mill thugs, with no more knowledge than which end of the sword they stick into people," she said disparagingly. "I can't decide whether to keep them imprisoned or just send them off to hard labor in one of the foundries. It'd serve 'em right if I just let Hawke conscript them for the deepest levels of the Bone Pit."

When the elf tilted his head at her with an unpleasant smirk, she paused. "As a matter of fact, I think that's exactly what I _will_ do - perhaps in a week or so. As for the one in there," she jerked her chin to one side and rolled her eyes, "I think Donnic and I have him prepped and ready to spill his guts. If you were to go in and shove your arm through the table, I bet he'll spill even more. After that, I think we'll put them all in a common holding cell and let you demonstrate on one of the sets of heavy armor - just to drive the point home. After all, you wouldn't want to disappoint Hawke, would you?" Fenris grinned and shook his head.

She sighed. "Well, have fun. In the meantime, I've got to go look over Donnic's report so we can get it sent to the Viscount without delay. Bring me the name to append to the arrest and execution order as soon as you have it, all right?"

Fenris smiled grimly, and held out a small pouch and a rolled scrap of parchment. "I think you will find pretty much everything you seek in here, courtesy of Isabela," he said. "In the meantime, I will just see if I cannot get corroboration from our friend in the interest of thoroughness."

Aveline took the pouch and unrolled the parchment, scanning quickly to the bottom, where there was a wax seal with a coat of arms and a name she recognized. "Vanard?" Her lips thinned for a moment and she shook her head. "Flames. I should have known we hadn't heard the last of that bastard," she muttered. "He never forgave Hawke for Khelder, even though the lad deserved what he got, many times over. Shit. This changes everything. It's going to be damned hard to convince the Viscount to act against a Magistrate - even with all sorts of proof." She turned and walked down the dungeon hallway with her head bowed, deep in thought.

Looking after her with concern, Fenris started to speak, then closed his mouth with the words unsaid. He'd have a talk with Isabela later in the evening instead. Perhaps they could provide a solution to Aveline's problem before she had to brace the Viscount. He triggered his brands and opened the door. "Well, hello, you worthless _shem_," he said pleasantly.

* * *

><p>He curled tightly under the ratty blanket, humming and muttering to himself. The rush was fading - it always faded, of course - but this time had been a wonderful long while of floating in the cold embrace of the dust, with all the old pains and longings frozen behind a bright blue wall of ice. They couldn't hurt him while they were locked behind that beautiful ice, and he could remember how good he had felt, once upon a time - bearing the sun, doing the Maker's bidding, respected and feared. Unnoticed, tears leaked from his eyes and trickled down the deep furrows of pain worn in his face from the years of addiction. "Someday," he crooned to himself - the same old futile, hollow promise. "Someday, old Samson will have his shield back."<p>

* * *

><p>"<strong>I must insist that you leave him alone. He does not need any more distraction added to his life. It interferes with our purpose. It's bad enough that the woman must be tolerated."<strong>

"**_With _your_ purpose, you mean. I see that your sojourn in the mortal world has done nothing to correct your sense of self-righteousness. Besides, she is the offspring of a noteworthy mage. She could offer more assistance than you think - for both our causes."_**

"**And I see that staying in the Fade has not changed your futile attempts to regain the past. There is no need to recover the old form - not when a willing host is a perfectly acceptable alternative."**

"_**Your time away from the Beyond has clouded your perceptions and your ethics. Even a willing host inevitably decays and becomes corrupted - and spreads that corruption to you. And in turn, your presence merely hastens the process in a vicious unending spiral. You are destroying him, you know."**_

"**No. I do not accept your interpretation. You were always so ... No. He will not falter. We are doing what must be done. Mages are imprisoned just as our people were. I have seen too many friends trying to escape the Fade become abominations instead. And the mages fare no better - becoming lesser abominations when they seek to aid such as you. Better that you and the others remain in exile. There is no room in this world anymore for our kind."**

_**You are wrong, Casus Belli*. You have merely traded in one struggle for another - one form of possession for another. And I foresee that what you and your unwitting pawn shall unleash will have the potential to destroy both our worlds."**_

"**And I see we still cannot agree upon anything, Pallida Mors*. A word of caution, stay out of it - I will brook no more interference. Fiat justitia ruat caelum, frater mea*. **_Pathetic whiner._

"_**... Ut fata trahunt, frater mea. Vade in pace.*"** Bullheaded fool._

* * *

><p><strong>Additional author's note:<strong> Apologies to one and all who might have thought I had disappeared into the Deep Roads. You're not far wrong. This chapter has been a real bully, demanding more and more time and space - especially with all the new characters and POV changes.

Add to that:

• my beta has quite literally been under the weather for a while (or possibly hiding from templars)

• my purse was stolen a few weeks back (which entailed much running around, cancelling of accounts, flailing and angry monkey noises)

• I was stood up for the first date I would have had in over five years (which plunged me into a profound depression for about a week)

• and finally the GOOD news that I've gotten a promotion at work (even though it takes up a little more of my time)

So, yeah, it's been quite a bit delayed. Fortunately, since this beast of a chapter is finally done, we can get back to normal-sized ones. We're also in the home stretch now, so hang in there with the Hawke crew, okay? _First round is on me..._

**Lots of Arcanum in this chapter:**

* She flies on her own wings, always.

*Justification For War.

*Pale Death...Let justice be done though the heavens fall, my brother.

"As fate wills it, my brother. Go in peace."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N** Massive apologies for the long delay, and thank you so much to all who have continued asking about progress. Honestly, I had run into a wall and a slight case of burn-out: while I knew how the story was going to end, this penultimate chapter was just NOT happening. However, a few weeks ago Snarkoleptic gave me a figurative kick in the pants (which she will deny vehemently, but it's true) and got me jumpstarted again. Thanks, sister! Your foray back into the world of Thedas was just the tonic I needed.

Also, for six months I was involved with my own Anders - a talented, gorgeous, damaged man who will always hold my heart. (If you'd like to hear his voice, check out Oblivion's Eye - "Eternity" on YouTube. He's also doing the drumming.) Sadly, it did not work out - heck, it _imploded_ - but the ending of the relationship gave me much needed insight as to exactly _why_ my Hawke would choose to stay with Anders after what happens at the Chantry. Simply put, it's because as badly as a broken heart hurts, it can mend; but the emptiness left behind when that person isn't there anymore is even worse, and it never goes away.

Anyway, here we are again - almost at the end of another adventure. I think this is why I like writing fic so much - what starts out as a simple idea for a one-shot grows and mutates into a full-fledged story with a life of its own, complete with twists, turns and unforeseen developments that travel from the characters to the muse and thence to my fingers. Now I hope you'll raise a glass with me and join in a toast to our wayward crew: _"Semel insanivimus omnes!"*_

**Aperitif**

"You must understand my position, Guard Captain," Viscount Dumar said. His voice remained calm and reasoned, but Aveline could see the dark patches of exhaustion that had become more prominent in the angular face. The Viscount had been a handsome man once, she mused. Too bad the strains of balancing his fickle power base against the machinations of Meredith and the fractious nobles of Kirkwall had aged him beyond his years. One had only to look at young Saemus to realize how vital Dumar must have been in his prime.

"Documents can be forged, and seals can be misplaced or stolen. I share your anger that such an attack happened against one of our more prominent citizens - I've taken quite a shine to young Amell myself - but currently the only issue I'm _allowed_ to care about is the Qunari question. Meredith is all for wading in and killing them all, but even she realizes the futility of that course - and with Elthina's assistance I have convinced her to hold off, at least for the time being . But the longer they are here, the more likely it is that the disaffected portion of the populace will continue to follow my son's unfortunate enthusiasm for their ideals, whether through genuine conversion, or desperation for change. And the Chantry cannot overlook or condone such heresy for long." He shrugged wearily, and leaned forward to place his palms on his desk. "I'm truly sorry, but any accusations brought against Magistrate Vanard at this time will simply be ignored."

Aveline growled in frustration. "Your Excellency, I will _not_ allow that bastard to flout the law. The Guard cannot be seen permitting such blatant..."

"That is quite _enough_, Guard Captain," Dumar snapped, cutting off her tirade. "If I clear you to go ahead with his arrest, let alone issuing a writ of execution, my own days will likely number the same as his. I hereby _officially_ forbid Magistrate Vanard's formal arrest or execution." As he spoke, his expression grew crafty, and he winked, slowly and deliberately. "Now, if you will excuse me, Guard Captain - I have some more stacks of parchment to wade through. Good day."

* * *

><p>"We all knew how it was likely to go," Varric said soothingly as Aveline strode back and forth in his room. "I don't envy Dumar at all. I'm surprised he hasn't chucked it all before now and just fled the country with Saemus and a retirement fund from the treasury."<p>

Aveline shook her head. "No, at the core, he's a decent man, and he wants to do what is best for Kirkwall - or at least most of it. But even with the backing of the Guard, he has no real power, and he knows it. I can't blame him for wanting to stay alive, but still, it would have been glorious to break down Vanard's door and haul him off to the Keep in a very public manner. At least I've done my duty in reporting the matter - and my conscience is clear.

"As matters stand now, since Vanard decided to use such underhanded means to set the attack against Hawke, he's forfeited all possible recourse to lawful due process. I'm pretty sure once his son's crimes become public knowledge in Kirkwall, his adherents will begin to fall away, and soon he'll have no friends left to shelter him. It wouldn't surprise me at all if he eventually ended up with his throat cut in a dockside alley ..." She carefully avoided looking at the two other individuals present in Varric's suite.

"I still haven't been able to find the templar's bolt-hole," Aveline continued sourly, "but our prisoner was most forthcoming on the subject. Turns out Samson had been ousted from the Order some years ago on Meredith's orders, so it's almost a certainty she had no stake in the attack. Evidently, he volunteered for the job because he knew he'd be able to get lyrium at the clinic. Seems Anders has turned him away more than once - and the last time, Hawke gave him a rather pointed reminder to stay away. I guess the addiction was too much for him to fight, plus he had an axe to grind with both of them." She turned as if to go, then paused and turned back. "Any word from them?" she said, and the stern Guard Captain was replaced by a concerned friend.

Varric smiled reassurance. "Blondie says she's nearly recovered, and they're going to be moving her through the cellars and into the estate proper as soon as possible. Of course, the whole cellar door will have to be rebuilt and reinforced, but rumor will paint it as just an enlargement of storage for the clinic. Nobody needs to know that's the back entrance to Hawke's house."

Aveline nodded briskly. "That's exceptionally good to hear, Varric. I'd appreciate it if you could send word to them about what little I've been able to uncover. I'm afraid my stock in Darktown is even lower than usual right now, or I'd go myself.' She grinned abruptly, eyes glinting with rare humor.

"And you might also pass on that Hawke will have several more strong backs available for digging at the Bone Pit very soon. They'll be working off their sentences rather than hanging. Most of them complained that they'd rather die - they've heard about all the fun things happening out there recently - but execution is too clean for that lot."

"What about the one who talked?" Varric interjected shrewdly. "I wouldn't think he'd last too long in the Pit, not if his fellows knew what he'd done."

"I'm keeping Sharval on unofficial retainer," Aveline replied blandly. "He claims he wasn't responsible for any of the deaths, and I'm inclined to believe him - especially since Donnic vouched for him. Seems he was one of the Guard recruits years ago, but saw which way Jeven's command was trending, so he disappeared and took up cutpursing in Hightown instead. Not that that worked out much better for him - he still has a deeply ingrained fear of you and Bianca."

Varric looked puzzled. "About five years ago, now," Aveline supplied helpfully. "You'd just watched two young women get their hopes dashed by your brother...and then to add insult to injury, some young prat tried to lift their money."

"Well, I'll be dipped in nug shit," Varric drawled. "I _do_ remember him now - he wasn't much more than a kid then. Too bad my warning didn't sink in a little deeper. Ah well, what's past is past. But are you sure you can trust him? He might just disappear into Darktown again, you know."

Aveline shook her head smugly. "He's smart enough to know that the Guard are the only thing standing between him and the Coterie, vengeful Darktowners, Vanard's people, Anders and Hawke - so he'll be keeping an eye out here and there, then reporting to _you_." She smirked at Varric's dumfounded look. "So you'd better make it clear to your contacts that he's part of _your_ network. We're just the Guard. _You're_ Varric Tethras - Lowtown's master spy. Nobody crosses you."

Aveline paused to let Varric recover his usual aplomb, then hit him with another startling revelation. For the first time in far too long, she realized, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. "With this failed attempt, I don't think Vanard will try anything else too soon, so Hawke will likely be just as safe in Hightown, and a sight more comfortable, too, especially with a few guards posted out front of the estate. But the clinic is a different matter. You might like to know that I'm assigning Guard Lieutenant Carida a rotating patrol through Darktown. She's known there, and respected, which is useful. And she knows her way around the Undercity, too. It's not much ..."

"It's a damned sight better than they've had before," Varric interrupted with a chuckle. "You want to be careful, Aveline. People won't be scared shitless of you anymore once word of this gets out." When she frowned at him, he stopped smiling. "Of course, I could be mistaken about that," he amended hastily.

* * *

><p>A while later, after some intense discussion with the storyteller, Fenris and Isabela exchanged glances. He nodded, and she smiled, raising one eyebrow in emphasis. They both stood, and Fenris gave Varric a short bow. "Thank you for your hospitality, Varric. I think we have what we needed to know. For now, however, I think it would be best if we take our leave. The streets of Kirkwall are not safe at night - even for those prepared for danger."<p>

"Especially in Hightown," Varric agreed solemnly. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some company? Bianca's been feeling rather frustrated recently. The two of us could use a little recreational outing."

"Thank you, but maybe some other night, Varric," Isabela interjected smoothly. "Your face is too well known around Hightown, even after dark. Fenris and I are more non-descript." She grinned sharply when Varric glanced rather pointedly from her cleavage to the elf's lyrium brands. "Besides, it's also well-known that Hawke is your best friend. If enough people can place you here in the Hanged Man, there will be fewer questions."

Varric raised his mug and took a reflective sip. "So quickly?" he said with a slight edge in his voice. "Do you think that's wise?"

"Delay would serve no purpose," Fenris stated coldly. "To wait would only let him strengthen his defenses. Besides, rumor has been circulating that he is planning to move to his country estate - and an operation on that scale would be too risky an undertaking."

Varric grunted in grudging agreement. "Well, good luck then." As they turned to go, the dwarf slapped one hand on the table, and hissed at them, "Wait." When they stopped, Varric's face settled into an ugly sneer. "However you do it - make sure the son of a bitch _suffers_," he growled. Fenris' eyes gleamed, and he flexed his fingers in their claw-tipped gauntlets while Isabela chuckled low in her throat.

* * *

><p>"Anders, I can walk by myself, really," she said patiently, smiling up at her lover.<p>

"I know, Hawke," the mage replied, but he didn't remove his arm from her shoulders. "I simply can't extend the barrier any further and still be sure it will hold against a concentrated attack. Carida has cleared the area and set sentries, but until we get through the cellar door and have it safely blocked behind us, I'm taking no further chances with you." He pulled her closer to him, and she put her arm around his waist with a contented sigh.

Once the door had swung shut behind them, however, Hawke grabbed Anders by the neck of his coat and pulled herself up to kiss him. Overbalanced, he staggered back against the door, thumping into it with a grunt. Instinctively, his hands cupped underneath her buttocks to support her weight at his hips as she wrapped her legs around him. Only a few muffled gasps and moans broke the silence of the cellar as they kissed, enjoying the privacy they had been denied by all the concerned well-wishers during the past day and night.

Finally, Anders broke the silence as Hawke started moving more purposefully against him. "Maker, Hawke, not ... not _here_," he whispered uncertainly. "Not where...," his voice trailed off.

"Not where I died?" she replied. "Not where you risked everything you are - went against everything you believe - just to save me? How else can I ever thank you properly? How else can I make amends for what you had to do?" She locked her arms around his shoulders in desperation, and the mage hugged her just as tightly.

"Be easy, love," he whispered reassuringly. "I didn't use blood magic." Hawke relaxed momentarily in his arms, then tensed again.

"You didn't ... but then how did you know where to find me in the Fade?" she asked quietly, after the merest hesitation.

He was silent for a moment, lowering his arms to set her back on the cellar floor. He'd been dreading this moment - because even though he hadn't used blood magic, hadn't he done the next closest thing? With a slight flick of thought, he summoned a wisp and stared down at the stained floor, remembering - the agony of that moment was etched on his face - and Hawke swallowed, wishing she hadn't pressed.

"You have to understand," the mage began, almost inaudibly. "I had already given up. You were dead, my powers were gone, even Justice was silent. I felt like the only option left to me was to simply sit in the dark and die, since I had failed you so completely. That's when... that was when the spirit spoke to me."

Hawke drew in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. "A spirit? Or a demon?" The doubt in her voice hurt Anders, but he covered it with a quick grin. She had every right to question, he reminded himself.

"Actually, I _was_ convinced it was a demon, come to tempt me into blood magic at the very least, with me becoming a true abomination as an encore," he said lightly. "But there were differences - and it knew Justice - although not by that name. It didn't seem to be a friendly acquaintance, but at least it was still willing to speak with me. What it asked in return wasn't anything too damning." His voice lowered, and he stared at her, eyes vulnerable and dark in the dim light. "And what it offered was worth any risk."

She closed her eyes briefly and just leaned against him for a moment. "I'm not condemning you, my dear," she said finally. "I just fear for you - especially if Meredith ever catches you away from Darktown or before I can get warning to you to disappear. If just one templar spy were to hear what you just told me...," her fists clenched. "You're not the only one who would drown this city in blood if something were to happen," she vowed. "Meredith already has reason enough to hate my family - or more correctly, my father and his name. I'm sure it would give her no end of enjoyment to take turns hurting us and making the other watch."

"Agreed she's a cold-hearted bitch, but she's never really met you, love. Why should she hate you? Or your father?" Anders' voice was puzzled.

"Papa ... ah, the spirit ... told me about something that happened years ago. From the sounds of it, Meredith was close to Mother. _Very_ close, actually, but I don't know if Mother returned her interest." Hawke shuddered against him. "You know what? You're right, Anders; this isn't the time, or the place. Let's get back to the estate. I want a bath, and some of Orana's soup, and to see sunlight in the morning."

* * *

><p><strong>Are you intending to let her know more? Especially about what the cost of your repeated meddling with her family will ultimately be?<strong>

_**Perhaps. At least the history and the reason of it. As for the final cost, brother, better the loss of one life than countless thousands, which will be the outcome of your meddling with the mage.**_

**Enough! Further debate about that is ...**

_**... pointless, I know. Farewell, brother. Now that you are almost healed, I do not think we should speak again. And stay out of the Beyond - you've disrupted it badly during your convalescence. Many of our fellows have been stirred from their torpor. Any new visitors will find their nightmares waiting for them for several weeks.**_

**With pleasure. In turn, make sure you don't interfere with my host again.**

_**That will present no difficulty, he has already enjoined me to do much the same. But remember, he still has a will of his own. If you deny him his choices and force your own upon him, you will lose him entirely.**_

* * *

><p>Before they had even cleared the sub-cellar, Hawke's legs had given out, and she'd only kept herself from falling by grabbing the mage's arm. They sat on some empty wine crates to let her catch her breath, but after several minutes she was still alarmingly pale, so Anders scooped her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way. She protested vehemently, but the mage could tell she was deeply frightened by her weakness.<p>

"This isn't permanent, love," he said reassuringly. "Even with healing magic, traumatic blood loss is not something you recover from all that quickly. Just a few days of bed rest, good strengthening broths and fortified wines will have you back to normal." He smiled at her, and then nuzzled against her ear. "And as your healer, I should stay with you to _keep_ you in bed," he whispered fondly, smiling again as she shivered and finally relaxed.

"You heard the Sister, dwarf - bed rest is all she needs," a curt voice said from upstairs as they exited the library and came into the main hall.

Anders stiffened with anger, and Hawke's expression grew grim. "Wonderful," Anders muttered. "What's _he_ doing here? I'm not in the mood to deal with any sanctimonious ranting."

Hawke scowled in agreement. "And the day was going _so_ well..."

Carefully, the mage set her down, and motioned for Orana, who had just entered the hall from the kitchens. "Get her something to sit on, would you, please? And what's happened here?" he asked the elven woman in a quiet voice. Her eyes flickered above him to the upper landing, and she abruptly turned and fled, blurting something about "getting the mistress a chair."

"What's happened here is an injured mother worried sick, an undutiful daughter shirking her responsibilities, and some clean, un-magical help rendered," Sebastian's cultured, scornful voice answered. They turned to see him descending the stairs in his Chantry finest, trailed by a Sister with a surgeon's pouch slung over her shoulder and a harried-looking Bodhan bringing up the rear.

Anders flushed and took a step forward, but Hawke laid one hand on his arm and he subsided after a quick look at her face. She was still pale, but her cheeks had turned red, and her eyes were glittering. Instead, he cupped his hand under her elbow to support her in standing upright to confront this unwelcome visitor.

"As the rightful ruler of Starkhaven, you have absolutely _no_ place in lecturing me about shirking responsibilities, _Prince_ Vael," Hawke said in a cutting, icy voice. "I suggest you go back to your Chantry duties, since the ones pertaining to your bloodline seem to be so far from your mind. But thank you for _your_ help, Sister," she gave the embarrassed looking woman a slight nod of acknowledgement, then turned her back on both of them.

Sebastian stared at her for a moment - jaw clenched, obviously seething - then glared at Anders, who was openly smirking at his discomfort. But he didn't say anything further, and when the door slammed behind them, those remaining sighed in relief and relaxed slightly.

"Now, Bodhan, what's happened to my mother?" Hawke tried to put a convincing tone of concern in her voice. More than likely, Leandra had over-indulged at another one of the extravagant Hightown parties she was constantly attending, an occurrence which was becoming all too frequent. But the dwarf's reply was unexpected.

"It was yesterday morning, mistress. Maybe an hour after you left. She was giving me the mail to go out, and the shopping list for Orana, and suddenly she grabbed at her chest and collapsed. Of course, I've seen the like before, but her Ladyship isn't very much older than I, and she's in good health otherwise, so I was quite worried, especially when she didn't wake up. Sandal and I got her up to her room and then while Orana got her settled, I went looking for you and Master Anders. But nobody could tell me where you were, and I wasn't able to find any of your associates, either." The mage and the rogue exchanged uneasy glances.

"I finally decided the only option left was the Chantry, and Sister Bernice agreed to come. But _he_ saw us leaving and insisted on coming. I'm terribly sorry, serah. But I couldn't convince him not to..." The old dwarf's lined face was twisted with unhappiness, and Hawke patted him gently on the arm.

"I don't blame you at all, Bodhan. You did admirably well. I'm just sorry you couldn't find us. Things have been a bit ... chaotic." She wavered on her feet and clutched his shoulder. "But for now, I'll just ask you to do whatever Master Anders tells you. I've ... I need to rest a while, I think," she finished in a suddenly weak voice.

Anders picked her up again, and headed up the stairs. "I'll be back in just a moment, Bodhan," he called over his shoulder. "And I'll check on Leandra. Send Orana up to help Mistress Hawke, if you would. And have Sandal build up the fires. I want it really warm in both their rooms.

* * *

><p>"Young man, there is no need at all for you to be here, and it goes against propriety. Please leave," Leandra said peevishly, and waved his hand away when Anders' would have checked her forehead. "I simply fainted. It happens, you know."<p>

"I'm sorry, Leandra, but at your age, even fainting is cause for concern. Had you felt dizzy beforehand, or had any pain in your chest or upper arms?" Anders studied her face, noting with slight anxiety that there was still a slight bluish cast to her lips. "And prolonged periods of unconsciousness are also bad, if your lungs are not pulling in enough air."

She settled back against the headboard, slightly chastened. "No, nothing like that. I was fine. I just suddenly felt a sharp pain _here_," and she pointed at her heart, "and I couldn't breathe. Felt like I had a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. Then I woke up and that nice young man was here with a Sister. He was very kind, and reassured me that she had taken only enough blood to thin the weight of the thick air that had come up from Lowtown and the foundry district. That year we spent with Gamlen seriously hurt my lungs, I'm afraid."

The mage pursed his lips on a sharp condemnation. _Bleeding and bad air? Andraste's flaming ... the Chantry probably kills more with their cack-handed foolishness than any malady. At least she's taken no lasting harm._

"Well, you do seem better, so I'll just give you another dose of poppy syrup and let you rest some more," he said quietly. He arranged the pillows so her lungs would be unconstricted as she would rest more or less upright. Once she was asleep, he ran a questing, blue-charged palm over her chest, but he could not sense any damage to the heart muscles. Puzzled, and still slightly suspicious about the coincidence of timing and symptoms, he returned to Hawke's room.

"She'll be fine. But I swear, if any Chantry charlatan ever sets foot in here again, I'll do something drastic," he said to Hawke's questioning gaze. "The Sister actually _bled_ your mother, and Sebastian approved it." Anders made an angry spitting noise. "It's a wonder she used leeches and not a blade."

* * *

><p>Life settled back into a more or less normal pattern in fairly short order, with a few changes that were alternately pleasant and grating. Although they were very careful to make sure Leandra had no inkling of what had actually happened to her daughter that day in Lowtown, for some reason she seemed to have mellowed considerably in her attitude towards Anders.<p>

Of course, Hawke conceded glumly to her lover one evening, that was probably because her mother had discarded Saemus as a possible suitor for her daughter. Instead, Sebastian's name kept cropping up with alarming frequency. After all, a prince, even in exile, was a much more suitable catch than an appointed official's son. And how could any girl not be dazzled by such a prospect?

Anders earned himself some pummeled ribs for his laughing fit and was appropriately contrite for the next few days.

Nobody in Kirkwall, well _almost_ nobody, was surprised when one of the fishing sloops returned to the docks one day about a week later with a grisly catch tangled in their nets. Aveline was summoned dockside to view the remains. The man's body, badly bloated and fish-chewed, was clad in the remains of tattered velvet finery. But the signet ring on one hand was enough for her to announce the demise of Magistrate Vanard - probably at the hands of the Coterie. Unfortunately, no witnesses came forward to either confirm or deny her conclusion.

Nobody attended the burning, either, because by that time certain allegations of crimes committed by the Magistrate's missing son had finally surfaced and were making the rounds in Hightown. However, there were noisy celebrations several nights running in the main square of the Alienage, and the Guard was conspicuous by their absence.

For a remarkable length of time, the incidence of reported violent crimes in Darktown was actually lower than that in any other part of the city, Hightown included. Most of the credit went to the guard patrols led by Carida, but there was also a ready militia of refugees and the disaffected who kept a lid on things at other times. And if the occasional Coterie member went over the inadequate railings and into the rocky gorge under the unseeing eyes of the Twins from time to time, no one saw fit to mention it.

About a fortnight later, Varric issued invitations to his suite of rooms to celebrate another successful business venture suggested by Hawke and implemented during her convalescence - the introduction of a new beverage to tantalize the palate and refresh the spirit, and available exclusively at the Hanged Man.

* * *

><p>*We have all been mad once.<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** If anybody is still out there: at long last, here is the final chapter. Huge apologies for the massive delay. I was a good third of the way into it, chugging along, and then I hit a wall - a big stone block one, crafted by dwarves. I knew where the storyline needed to go, I had everybody's POV mapped out, but it just was NOT progressing. And so there it sat, for almost a year, sticking its tongue out at me and smirking. "Nyah nyah." I'd periodically open up Quark, re-read the previous chapters, and poke at this one just a bit, but still, nothing. Then, just a few months ago, I was looking for a link on acceptable terminology for writing "teh sexytimes" which my beta had given me when I first started writing, because I wanted to pass it on to another writer. I started going through our old emails, but I couldn't find it. However, I DID find a couple of dialogue snippets I'd shared with her for possible inclusions in later stories. All of a sudden, things started linking together ... and BOOM! I suddenly realized that if I changed one little section, and re-arranged the dialogue just a bit to incorporate that re-discovered paragraph, I was back in business. So, thank you, Snarkoleptic, and thank you Momogirii! Between the two of you, you've managed to chivvy my muse back to Kirkwall.

**Lachryma Andraste - In Vino Veritas***

"You know, I'd completely forgotten about that," Hawke admitted to Anders as she put on her leathers, recently accessorized with steel banding woven through the torso. The new armor was heavier than she liked, but everyone had insisted, and she had reluctantly agreed to the modification.

The mage shot her a droll look. "Not too surprising, all things considered, sweetheart. Especially since I made Varric promise to refrain from bringing it up in your presence." He fended off the gauntlet she flung at him and continued blithely, "Come now, it's not as if he couldn't handle the business side of it. Besides, from what he's told me, it was already pretty much a done deal the night of the ambush."

When they left the estate, they found Aveline waiting for them. She was not wearing her official regalia tonight, however. Just the simple tunic, hauberk and greaves of an ordinary warrior, plus an unmarked shield and a serviceable sword in a plain leather sheath. At Hawke's raised eyebrow, the woman merely smiled. "I'm off duty tonight, Hawke. It's been a while since I could just relax and have a drink."

"In that case, you should have invited Donnic," Anders said casually. Even in the moonlight, the sudden blush on the woman's face was evident. Her eyes narrowed, and the mage took an involuntary step back before he could stop himself.

"And why in the Maker's name would I do such a thing?" Aveline said in an icy, controlled voice, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Ahh, no particular reason," he blurted. "It's just that from what Varric has passed along, it sounds as though he was a real help in sorting out the mess with the Coterie thugs you captured. I know both Hawke and I would like to thank him."

"We really would, Aveline," Hawke chimed in quickly. "Of course, Varric is prone to embellishment, but from the sounds of it, the two of you must have been brilliant during the questioning."

"Since you put it that way, now I feel badly I didn't think of it myself. Donnic _did_ perform excellently." Apparently mollified, Aveline nodded and waved them forward. "Honestly, Varric actually didn't have to exaggerate too much this time," she said, and pride was evident in her voice. "Donnic never once let on that we had already pegged Sharval as our weak link ... Hmmmmm." She stopped again, looking around the square with narrowed eyes. She pursed her lips and whistled a couple of shrill notes. Within moments, they heard the thud of approaching footsteps, accompanied by a muted clanking. A guard trotted down the staircase in front of the Keep and saluted crisply when he came to a halt in front of the small party.

"Guard Captain?"

"How goes the watch, Corporal?" Aveline acknowledged his salute with one of her own.

"Nice and quiet, as usual, Captain. Is there anything amiss?"

"No, Corporal. But I need you to take a message to the barracks. Inform Guardsman Donnic that Serah Hawke has asked for his presence at The Hanged Man this evening, his earliest convenience. And make sure he knows it's informal - this isn't guard-related."

"Right away, Guard Captain," the soldier saluted again and turned, moving with alacrity. Hawke could swear she had heard a chuckle coming out from beneath his helmet, but forbore to say anything.

"Right, then," Aveline said in an overly-calm voice. "Now you can tell him. Let's get going, shall we?" She was blushing again.

They made a short side trip to collect Fenris and Isabela from the elf's appropriated manor. Hawke noticed that Fenris never moved far from the pirate's side, hovering almost protectively. And there was a subtle difference in Isabela's manner. Her conversation was still liberally sprinkled with lewd suggestions and double entendres, but they sounded almost forced, like she had to keep reminding herself to make them.

_Hmmmm, that will _definitely_ ruffle Sebastian's feathers at the next reading lesson_, she thought smugly, and grinned at Anders, who had also noticed the closeness between the two.

All in all, the stroll down to Lowtown was the most relaxed time, full of casual talk and sincere laughter, that she'd experienced in years - probably since before leaving Lothering, she thought wistfully. _Almost six years gone, and what do I really have to show for it?_ Hawke looked around at her friends, and then once more at Anders, who smiled down at her and touched her shoulder lightly. _Good friends and a man worth loving. And that's plenty._

"About time you got here," Varric chided as they entered his suite. "We'd almost decided to start without you." He gestured at those already seated around the table. Merrill smiled shyly and made a little wave. The color was high on her cheeks, and she looked slightly glassy eyed. At the foot of the table, a heavily cloaked figure with a hood pulled low enough to obscure their face in shadow shrugged. A stout older dwarf, seated to Varric's left, eyed Hawke appraisingly then guffawed. All of them had finely crafted glasses filled with an amber fluid close to hand.

"_This_ is the dreaded Hawke that keeps Kirkwall on tippy-toes? Why, she's just a mere slip of a lass, Tethras," the strange dwarf said. "From your stories, I'd pictured her being much more of a bruiser, like that beauty there," he raised his glass towards the doorway where Aveline was standing and taking stock of those present, still very much the Guard Captain, even off duty.

Hawke choked slightly, expecting an explosion from the older woman, but Aveline merely smiled. "She's more than capable of taking care of herself, Master Jakdan." He started, and his eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes, I know who you are. But here's something you should keep in mind: the next time you're thanking the Ancestors that none of the Carta informants here have bothered to let Bhelen know where you've taken up residence, just think how quickly that could change if Hawke decided to stop thinning the herd." He bowed his head in acknowledgment and took a sip of his drink.

As everybody took seats at the table, Varric carefully filled more of the small glasses from an ornate etched crystal decanter on the sideboard and passed them around to the latecomers.

Once everyone had been served, he rose from his chair, and lifted his glass high. "I thank all of you for coming tonight," he said, both face and voice completely serious for once. "We've all known each other for years now, and in spite of our differences, we've become friends ... to varying degrees," he conceded with a small smile. Fenris and Anders grunted almost simultaneously, which made everybody else laugh, and the two of them nodded grudgingly at each other. "Anyway," Varric continued, "none of this would ever have happened without Hawke. Young lady, I drink to you," and he bowed to Hawke, and drained his glass.

"To Hawke," the rest of them chimed in, and followed suit, except for the cloaked figure. There were murmurs of appreciation as the drink went down, smooth and warming, spicy and exotic.

"And to all of you, my dear friends." Profoundly touched, Hawke raised her glass in return and glanced fondly at all of them, pausing briefly to raise an eyebrow at the motionless figure at the end of the table, before draining her own glass. "Oh, now _that's_ good," she said in surprise, and looked at Varric, who gestured with a flourish to Jakdan.

Hawke stepped up to the brewmaster and offered her hand. "I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Master Jakdan," she said simply. "I'm just glad that you and Varric were able to come to an agreement while I was indisposed. And I suppose this is the fruits of our collaboration?" She tapped her glass against his.

The dwarf laughed in delight, nodding at her question. "Oh, yer a rare one," he said approvingly. "Dead and brought back from the Stone, and just calling it 'indisposed' like it was a minor annoyance."

The cloaked figure stiffened suddenly, and a gloved hand drew back the hood to reveal Sebastian's shocked face. "Dead?" he choked out, disbelief apparent on his face.

Hawke frowned at Varric. "I trust you have a good reason," she said pointedly. When he nodded and gestured for her glass to refill it, she held it out, "Yes, please." Once it was topped off she turned and took a seat right next to the archer. "Yes, Sebastian, _dead_. As in, couldn't get up and around to go home and check on my mother because pretty much all my blood had soaked into the ground in Darktown. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it when it happened, since the instigator lived in Hightown, and was a devout Andrastean... or at least he gave lip service to the Chant when he was in the public eye." She stared unflinchingly at him while she spoke, drink forgotten in her hand.

Sebastian scowled in frustration, blue eyes glittering. He cut one hand through the air in denial. "You must know I'd never wish you harm, Hawke. You've saved my life many times over and avenged my family. I owe you more than I could ever repay." He abruptly grabbed his glass and downed it in two large swallows. It was the first time Hawke could remember seeing him drink anything stronger than diluted wine in all the years she'd known the man. His eyes watered, and he coughed noisily for a few minutes before drawing a hand across his mouth and shaking his head.

"You have my solemn oath I knew nothing of this foul scheme," he continued in a strange voice. "You are too important to lose, Maia Amell." He reached one hand slowly towards her face. When Hawke pointedly leaned away, his mouth twisted, and he clasped both hands tightly together in his lap, head bowed.

"But you ... dead and restored to life." He looked back up at her, and his expression became exalted. "Surely this shows you are blessed almost as much as Andraste herself. Even though she was beloved of the Maker, still she needed to be purified by the flames before she was finally worthy to stay at His side. Now you have been purified just as thoroughly. I see this as a sign that you are called to take your place in the Chantry at my side - just as Andraste obeyed the Maker's call to stand with Him. Think of the good we can do, you and I. Reverend Mother Elthina is old, after all, and why should we look to Orlais for a replacement when you are already here?"

Hawke's eyes grew wider and wider as he rattled on, revealing ever more grandiose plans for Hawke to lead the Kirkwall Chantry to eclipse the Divine in Val Royeaux. Glances - more concerned than mocking - were exchanged around the table by the rest of her companions. Jakdan and Varric, however, merely watched with identical, enigmatic smiles, sipping occasionally from their glasses.

Finally, Hawke had heard enough. _But nobody's supposed to know how you really feel - remember what Papa said_, a small voice inside warned. _Screw it_ she thought, surprised and yet, somehow actually relieved. She downed her second glass of the whisky and set it precisely on the table in front of her.

"What absolute tripe," Hawke interrupted the archer's rapturous monologue. "Andraste?" She laughed harshly. "How dare you compare me to that conniving, opportunistic fishwife?" The stresses and uncertainties of the years spent in Kirkwall, given focus by the strains of the past month, were coming to a head again. But _this_ time she wouldn't cry.

"Let me tell you what I think of Andraste, Sebastian," she continued, smiling unpleasantly. "Granted, she was a poor, oppressed slave, living in the most terrible place in all of Thedas. But somehow she escaped her master - escaped the entire Tevinter Imperium, ruled by powerful Magisters - and made her way home, across many hundreds of miles, to Ferelden. Not an easy thing to do, by all accounts," and Hawke nodded at Fenris. "Fenris is a peerless warrior, imbued with powerful magic, yet it took him years to win free, even with the Imperium in its current reduced state. How on earth did one Alamarri woman accomplish such a feat?"

"Obviously, she had the help of the Maker," Sebastian said fervently, still caught up in his dreams.

"I never thought you were a simpleton, Sebastian, but I guess I was wrong. Now shut up and _do_ try to pay attention," Hawke snapped, and he did, indoctrinated through years of obedience required by family and Chantry. "Andraste was an Alamarri - they believed in several gods and goddesses, not just one. So, just how did a lowly fisherman's daughter, an escaped slave, come to win the heart and hand of one of the most powerful Alamarri warlords in Ferelden, and convince him - along with all his people - to renounce the gods of their ancestors in just a few short months?"

"I've always heard she had a lovely singing voice," Varric interjected jokingly.

"That may have been part of her training as a slave, especially if she was in a prominent household," Hawke nodded at the dwarf. "But remember who would be the head of such a household. What other training did she receive? What rituals did she watch? Did she practice in secret? And, when the time had come, when she finally knew enough, how easy would it then be for her to escape, bending wills and obscuring memories as she went?"

"You think she was a blood mage!" Anders sounded torn between laughter and horror. "You've read _In Search of the True Prophet_, haven't you?"

"Indeed," Hawke confirmed. "My father had a copy. He'd never say where he got it, but it was fascinating to read. Anyway, basically Andraste felt betrayed ... none of her gods had helped her in all her years of enslavement, so she lumped them all together into the idea of a god who had turned his back. But when she saw the power of the Magisters, she wanted it for herself, and she decided she would have _revenge_ as well. Once she was in Ferelden, she picked the most powerful warlord and brought him under her sway. After that, meetings with select leaders and chieftains would result in more bent to her will. Besides, the Alamarri were proud warriors - they had already fought the Imperium before and won ... the time was ripe. All in all, I find that theory much easier to believe in than the idea of a petty god who hated his creations so much he'd unleash darkspawn on the entire world for the transgressions of a few, and then be swayed by a pretty voice into feeling bad about it for a while."

Sebastian, looking as though he'd been struck a mortal blow, buried his face in his hands and started sobbing uncontrollably. Hawke patted him roughly on the shoulder. "Don't take it so hard, Sebastian," she said pityingly. "It's best you know now - obviously I'm not the proper kind of person to wear Chantry robes and equivocate with madwomen and religious zealots."

"The spirit has been teaching me some new spells and I want to try them out," a shrill, nervous voice abruptly cut through the shocked silence left in the aftermath of Hawke's impassioned rant. Gasps greeted this sudden admission, and they turned towards Merrill.

Her normally olive complexion was almost muddy looking from a mixture of embarrassment and fear, and the suspicious shine in her eyes had become genuine tears. Varric left his seat and moved quickly to her side. "Daisy, why haven't you said anything before now?" he chided gently, putting one gentle hand on her back.

"Because I've been ashamed to," she whispered, eyes downcast. "For so long I've been ignoring it and keeping it in check, and boasting about my control. I know why Hawke leaves me behind all the time, and I don't blame her, honestly. I just want to _help_, and instead I'm always a distraction and a bother because none of the magic I know is really effective for working with a group." She raised her eyes to look at them all, and there was an unaccustomed hardness in her face. "But these new spells - they would be so useful in a fight. I could target individuals, not just blanket the area with random hindrances..."

The words escaped Hawke's mouth before she could even think to censor them. "Oh, yes, _wonderful_ plan, Merrill. Now I'll be sure to bring you along _every_ time, because fighting brigands and darkspawn just isn't exciting enough without having the possibility of you suddenly becoming an abomination. What part of staying in the Alienage hidden away from the Templars do you _not_ understand after so long?"

"You know, I _can_ take care of myself, Hawke," the elven girl flared back with a rare display of temper. "I've been doing it for years now, without any help from you. You're always so busy doing good for your Fereldans and righting wrongs and making us feel inadequate and telling us to keep our heads down that you don't realize what a target you've made of yourself. And if _you're_ a target, then it puts the rest of us in danger, too." She clapped her hands over her mouth as if to physically stop the flow of words, and her eyes were almost as brightly green as Fenris' usually were.

"If you hadn't been watched over and kept in the Alienage until you adjusted, you would have been scooped up by slavers or the Templars within the first week," Hawke retorted angrily. "Don't you remember Olivia? Feynriel? It was for your own good." The elven girl burst into tears and huddled in her chair, drawing her legs up so she could clasp her arms tightly around her knees. Varric started rubbing her shoulders soothingly, shooting a worried look at Jakdan, who merely shook his head and shrugged, as if to say, _too late now..._

For a few moments, the sounds of Sebastian and Merrill crying formed an almost harmonic web, and everybody shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

"Oh, that's rich, that is," a derisive voice drawled finally. "After all the griping and complaining _you_ did your first few years here about how you didn't need a babysitter, it's ironic that you'd turn around and dismiss Merrill for saying the same thing. Especially when she's right." Hawke cringed back in her seat, staring with hurt disbelief at Aveline, who had tossed her first drink off with a nonchalance that spoke of many years' experience with hard liquor, and was now nursing another.

"_You_," Hawke stated, suddenly understanding. "It was _you_ who set everybody on me, thinking I didn't know how to fend for myself, even after surviving Ostagar and bringing my family out of Lothering?"

"Of course it was me," Aveline snorted contemptuously. "It was bad enough seeing poor Carver cut down after all he'd survived and Wesley following not five minutes later. How could I stand by and let another of your family die for my mistakes? Especially after we got here, when I could do something about it?

"Your mother had pinned her hopes on Gamlen, Bethany hadn't a clue how to act around so many people, and you were so busy scrounging for coin that you were ignoring all the warning signs and dangers that surrounded you every day - I mean, here we'd only been in Kirkwall three days and you'd already double crossed Athenril - taking her commission then stealing her money - then turning around and hiring on with the Red Irons instead. _Someone_ had to make sure you were safe. And since I had my duties with the Guard, I had to make sure everybody else did their part when I couldn't be there."

Hawke flashed a quick look around the room. Anders looked at her steadily, love evident in his eyes. She'd known _his_ reason for treating her so carefully for years now, but nobody else would meet her gaze for very long except Varric, and even his normal grin seemed strained. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that Merrill had finished her crying jag and was contentedly rubbing her cheek against his arm like a cat.

"And it wasn't _just_ you, so don't get your smalls in a twist," Aveline continued doggedly. "Do you think it was easy, keeping Bethany protected for as long as we did? Life in Kirkwall didn't just stop while you were off in the Deep Roads, you know. With Anders gone, she was the _only_ healer in Kirkwall, and she couldn't stand seeing how many people were suffering and ill. So she let it be known, through Lirene, that she was ready to help. Word got out that there was a new Healer in Kirkwall, which reached the wrong ears in record time - probably courtesy of Vanard again - so Meredith knew there was another apostate to be rounded up. I and others in the Guard spent the entire month you were gone moving her from place to place. We even had her up in the Barracks for a while, but she finally insisted on going back to Gamlen's, and that's where Cullen caught up with her."

Hawke's shoulders slumped. "But ... Bethany never said anything in any of her letters ..." she whispered.

"Oh, come on, Hawke," Varric interrupted in a bid to distract her. "M'Lady Sunshine wouldn't have said shit if she had a mouthful. She's a sweet girl, just like Daisy here, and she never complained ... much." Merrill looked up at him gratefully, taking his hand in hers and smiling sweetly. He smiled back uneasily, trying unsuccessfully to free himself from her surprisingly strong grip.

But the rogue missed the by-play, having sensed something off earlier in Aveline's speech. She cocked her head at Aveline, most of her anger dissipating. "What do you mean, 'die for your mistakes'? And how do you know what Carver had gone through? I hadn't seen him since before that last night at Ostagar. He'd only made it back to Lothering a scant hour before we fled - he hadn't really said anything more to me than 'we're leaving'."

It was Aveline's turn to color and look down at her drink. Abruptly, she raised the glass, downed the amber liquor, and turned to hurl the glass into the fireplace. It shattered, and the flames turned blue and crackled fiercely for a few seconds. "For Carver, and Wesley," she said softly. "Damn the Maker for taking them and leaving me."

After a moment of silence, she took a deep breath and turned back to face them, eyes shiny with welling tears. "It was that last night before the final battle. Everybody in camp was on edge. We could all feel that something was coming, and even though Cailan had made the rounds, trying to cheer everybody up with that vast store of clueless confidence, tempers were running high."

She started pacing in the small clear area between the table and the fire. "After I'd broken up three fistfights in as many minutes, I decided to get out of the broil for awhile by checking in with the perimeter guards of our pickets. That's where I found Carver, blundering around in the underbrush, cursing and whacking at tree trunks with a sword as big as he was. He almost took my head off with a wild swing when I asked him what in flames he thought he was doing. He overbalanced and I tackled him." She shook her head in remembered disapproval, then grinned faintly. "He'd been drinking, silly shit. But honestly, quite a few of the troops were in the same state."

Aveline turned back to the fire and leaned against the mantel, so she missed the arrival of Donnic. He paused uncertainly in the doorway, but Isabela placed a finger to her lips and gestured to the empty space next to her at the end of the table. Making sure the guardsman couldn't see it, she smiled at Aveline's back. Given what had already happened with the Starkhaven princeling, the next little while promised to be interesting, indeed.

"We ended up sitting and talking. Carver was horribly worried about you, Hawke. Said you'd gone out on a patrol the day before and nobody'd heard anything, and his mother had specifically told him to keep you safe. Then somehow we got on to ourselves and what we planned to do after the battle. He told me about some girl named Peaches in Lothering, and I told him about Wesley, and how we hoped to settle somewhere a small Chantry needed him and I could help the local militia. And all the while we were talking about our futures, we both knew we'd probably end up lying on the field with our guts ripped out.

"While he was showing me the mabari tattoo he and his company had gotten I caught myself thinking how very much he looked like my Wesley, only younger, and when he said he'd never even had a chance to steal a kiss from Peaches and now he was going to die a bloody virgin - I, well, I brought him back to my tent. I'm not proud of it, but we were both alone and afraid, and I thought I'd never see Wesley again." Aveline's voice had grown thin and strained with the memory she was relating.

"When we ran into you outside Lothering afterwards, I wondered if the Maker was punishing me for being an unfaithful wife. And when Carver died, and Wesley was Blighted, I knew He was. I would have died for either one of them, but instead I ended up the one who was forced to survive, again. So I've spent all my time since in trying to atone for what I did, Hawke. I couldn't keep on living if any more people who rely on me die." Her hands clenched on the mantelpiece and she started crying, great braying sobs that were shockingly loud.

Surprisingly, it was Isabela who rose first and crossed to Aveline; but Donnic was a bare pace behind her. "Hey, big girl," Isabela said warmly, "don't talk like that. You did a kind thing for the boy, and for yourself, too. It wasn't the Maker, it was just ... life. Only an utter jackass would judge you for that. Just let it out. You've been holding all that nonsense in for far too long. Now, what say we get you back to the barracks?"

"Please, allow me," Donnic said in a quiet, steady voice. His face, normally impassive, was filled with sympathy as he moved to stand at Aveline's other side. At the sound of his voice, the redhead gave a choked cry of dismay, and bolted for the door - shoving Isabela out of the way in a desperate attempt to escape.

"Guard Captain," Donnic barked, and Aveline halted, shoulders braced as if she was expecting a blow. "Guard Captain," he continued in a quieter voice. "As the lady has said (Isabela chuckled), there's no shame in anything in your past. And surviving it's shaped you into an exemplary leader. Believe me when I say the Guard feels exactly the same way I do. Knowing _why_ you care for all of us as you do just reinforces that. It's an honor to serve with you, and none of us would blame you for turning out to be human, after all."

She turned and looked at him, drawing in a deep breath when she saw that everybody else had risen, too.

When he strode over to the door and saluted, Aveline blinked hard, and then saluted him in return."The honor is mine, Guardsman Donnic," she replied quietly. "I'll make my goodnights, then," and she nodded to everybody else. "And Varric, if a single _hint_ of this turns up in one of your serials, I'd suggest you start running for the Anderfels, because I will hunt you down and make sure you eat every copy."

"Duly noted, ma'am," the dwarf bowed with a flourish, grinning impudently.

Hawke hurried across the room and hugged the older woman fiercely. "I'm sorry I've been such a trial for you, Aveline," she whispered. "Why didn't you just tell me? How can I possibly thank you for all you've done?" She giggled. "Tell you what: I'll stop by the Keep someday soon, and you and I can talk more about Carver."

Aveline snorted softly, and shook her head. "Maybe. I think you'll need to get me very, _very_ drunk." She straightened her tunic, and picked up her sword and shield. "Come, Guardsman Donnic. Let's do a quick patrol before we head back to the barracks. I feel the need to break some troublemaker's heads."

"Aye, Guard Captain," he said proudly. With a final nod to Hawke and her companions, he followed her down the stairs. Hawke watched them go, then sighed and returned to sit next to Anders, leaning against his comforting warmth.

"I hope she'll be all right," Anders said, looking after them with a concerned frown. "That outburst was most uncharacteristic."

"She'll be fine in a few hours, Blondie," Varric said with certainty. "Especially since Donnic's with her. He's as stolid and unimaginative as Fereldan cooking. Which makes him perfect for Aveline. She's the hardtack to his cheese."

Isabela smirked at the dwarf. "That sounds like something you've been sitting on for a while, Varric. What other culinary comparisons have you come up with?" She laughed wickedly when the dwarf looked guilty. "Well, out with it! How about me. Or Fenris?" She crossed back to her seat and placed a hand almost possessively on the elf's vambrace.

The dwarf took a deep breath, and then grinned. "You asked for it Rivaini." He pointed in rapid succession, starting with Merrill, who had fallen asleep in her chair, with one hand still clutched on Varric's coat. "Strawberries, blood oranges and crystallized ginger."

The finger swiveled to Sebastian. "Porridge with imported Anderfallian honey and cream." The archer sniffed and looked disdainful. Varric looked at Hawke and Anders and hesitated, the grin fading slightly. "I'll, ah, I'll have to keep thinking..."

"Oh, come now Varric," Anders said lightly. "Surely you've thought of something? Orlesian lamb with a decadent Tevinter mint sauce?" Hawke smiled at him, and licked her lips.

"I _like_ mint," she whispered, and slipped one hand up under his feathered pauldron.

"Huh-uh, Blondie. I said I'm still working on it." The storyteller turned his gaze towards Isabela and Fenris, and his grin brightened. "A few weeks ago, I would have said Antivan vichyssoise for Broody and a spicy, stuffed tart for you, Rivaini," the dwarf drawled, and Isabela chuckled in delight. The elf, looking rather pale and drawn, had been uncharacteristically silent since the toast to Hawke.

"What is vish...vishy-sauce?" Fenris asked suspiciously, frowning at Varric.

"Why, it's a cold fish soup." The elf shuddered and made a face. Everybody knew his hatred for fish of any kind.

Anders snorted in amusement, and Hawke elbowed him. Varric favored them all with a superior smirk, and said, "Keep in mind I said a 'few weeks ago.' With recent — ah — developments being such as they are, I think I'll need to change the assessment to something with a little more heat."

"_Fama volat*_," Fenris muttered in resignation. But he looked at Isabela and smiled. "_Non sum qualis eram*_." Abruptly, he grimaced and pushed back from the table, and his brands flared brightly. "Ah, _Maker_," he gritted, and started vomiting. All was chaos for a few moments as they scrambled to get a receptacle placed in front of him.

Not surprisingly, it was Isabela who proved most efficient at getting the elf situated, head between his knees and hanging over a fresh chamber pot. "After all," she muttered, stroking the back of Fenris' neck with a cool hand, "I'm used to treating sea-sickness. But this was very sudden." She scowled at Varric. "What exactly did you serve us tonight, Varric? As bizarrely entertaining as it's been to see everybody spilling their deep dark secrets and crying their eyes out, I think it's rather underhanded, even for you, to pull such a trick on us."

"She's right, Varric," Anders said. "Right now, Fenris is exhibiting some of the classic signs of lyrium poisoning. And with his body already suffused with the stuff... it could prove very dangerous for him." As if to confirm his words, Fenris began retching again. Isabela scowled and grabbed Varric's wash basin, pouring water into it and soaking a cloth to lay across the back of Fenris' neck.

Varric looked stricken, and Jakdan hastily set his glass down, clearing his throat nervously.

"It wasn't supposed to hurt anybody," Varric said contritely. "All it's supposed to do is lower inhibitions so people will tell the truth about things they usually keep hidden. I guess we didn't consider what might happen to somebody who already has a high amount of lyrium in their system."

"It's just a side effect from that lyrium bilge hoop Hawke found interacting with the whisky,"Jakdan chimed at the same time. "My Paragon Sweat did the same thing to surfacers visiting Orzammar, but it's never caused harm before. Of course, I'd never encountered somebody like your elf friend, here."

"I, ahhhh... I think it's time l take my leave," Sebastian said, sounding a little sick himself. His eyes were red and puffy lidded, but he looked remarkably calm after his earlier outburst. "I need to go to the Chantry and offer contrition to Andraste and the Maker for my blasphemy. I pray you can forgive me as well, Hawke. I hope you know I would never actually ..." he shook his head and sighed. "Whatever I can do to make amends, just ask."

Hawke looked at him speculatively until he squirmed. "I'll consider it forgotten, Sebastian," she said. He looked relieved until she held up one finger. "First, however, I must insist that you start branching out on your reading materials for Fenris. I gave him the Book of Shartan a few years ago, and he still hasn't read it. He deserves to know some of the other aspects of his heritage, and the way the Chantry has used his people." She held up another finger. "Secondly, I've absolutely no interest in marrying you. Next time you see my mother, make it clear that you don't, either. Do that, and we are reconciled. Agreed?"

The redhead considered a moment, then nodded, even managing to smile briefly. "You have my word on it. I still think you would make a formidable Divine." He pulled his hood up and hurried out.

"I think I'll just get Fenris to my room," Isabela said frostily, still glaring at Varric. The elf had stopped vomiting, and his brands were no longer as bright as they had been, but he was wobbling where he sat, mumbling some snatches of a tune under his breath and staring blearily at those still present. "Anders, if you could lend me hand, we can get him settled and I'll stay up with him until he's finished purging his guts. I don't think he should sleep in this state, or he might choke."

The mage murmured agreement and moved to help support Fenris on one side, while Isabela propped him on the other side. He looked back at Hawke and smiled reassurance. "I'll be back in just a few minutes, lamb," he said, and winked at her. Varric groaned.

"So why didn't it work on you, then, Isabela?" Anders asked over Fenris' head as they left the room..

Isabela laughed. "Easily enough explained. It's usually the least trustworthy folks who have the fewest secrets to hide. We already know the opinions our 'betters' hold of us, so why bother to lie about anything? I just decided to keep my mouth shut so nothing really bad came out."

Hawke smiled sadly to herself. She imagined any secret of Isabela's that would bring the pirate to tears would have to be horrific indeed. She was glad the Rivaini had so much self-control. She turned and saw that Varric had picked the sleeping Merrill up out of her chair and was tucking her in to his own bed, with a very troubled look on his face. The elven girl muttered something and smiled, curling into a tight ball under the blanket. Varric bent over and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "Sleep well, Daisy. And forgive me."

When he came back to the table, Hawke was seated again, and eyeing the almost empty decanter of whisky with profound annoyance. Jakdan was slightly scrunched back in his chair, trying to make himself less noticeable, but it didn't work.

"Tell me, Jakdan, how long will the lyrium keep leaching into the whisky?" Hawke asked calmly. The older dwarf looked surprised, but answered readily enough once it was apparent Hawke wasn't going to attack him.

"Probably for several years," he admitted. "While I was brewing in Orzammar, it never seemed to lose its potency from that little kick of lyrium. That's what made it so special."

"Well, shit," Hawke said, and flounced back in her chair. "I was hoping to distribute this widely enough to turn a tidy profit and expand Lirene's shop for starters. After that, a steady income would have broadened the possibilities of helping our people tremendously. But that won't happen now."

"Why _not_ go forward with it, Hawke?" Varric asked curiously. "I've already gotten a few rough drafts for broadsheets to distribute. It's a potential gold mine."

"More like a potential Bone Pit," she countered. "The nightly brawls here in the Hanged Man are bad enough without adding unleavened 'truthiness' to the mix. Imagine what destruction would result if this was available in inns and taverns throughout Thedas. A Blight would pale in comparison. Although I wouldn't mind slipping a few shots into Meredith or Elthina..." she got a dreamy look on her face, then shook her head. "No, something like this is just too volatile to risk in broad distribution. _Damn_." She smacked her fist against the arm of her chair.

"So, just market it to those it won't affect," the storyteller countered with a sly grin. "The members of the Merchant's Guild would pay through the nose to get their hands on something something crafted by the maker of Paragon Sweat, and available to surfacers instead of reserved for the Orzammar nobility. Especially if it could give them an edge in discussions with human traders from around Thedas. **Remigold Rogue** could be _the_ negotiation drink of choice." He pushed some sheets of parchment across the tabletop to her.

Anders had just entered the room as Varric was speaking, and he stopped and grasped the door frame convulsively as Hawke said, in a very ominous voice, "Excuse me, _what_ did you call it?" She'd reflexively picked up one of the flyers, but didn't glance at it since she was busy staring daggers at Varric.

"Remigold Rogue, in your honor, lass," Jakdan said nervously. He scrunched even further back in his chair, leaning away from Hawke, who was flexing her free hand in a motion that suggested throttling.

"We uhh, we were considering Hawke's Blood, but I thought that sounded too much like a Tevinter wine," Varric said, blinking as he realized that Hawke was furious.

"And just _where_ did you get the idea for that name, Varric?" The sweet, breathy voice could have frozen the Minanter solid in its banks.

"Well, ahhh, funny thing about that," Varric fumbled. _Shit, she is royally pissed. Wonder if I can get to Bianca before she kills me?_

Anders stepped up behind Hawke's chair and laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. "It's my fault, Hawke. I told him about it a few years ago. I'm sorry, I never thought it would come up again." He looked at Varric accusingly, and winced as he felt Hawke's shoulder tense under his hand.

"Well, you wouldn't answer my real question, Blondie," Varric said peevishly. "I had to take what I could get. Look, it's not as if we're going to put the origin story on every cask, Hawke. We really did just mean to honor you with it. Besides, you've got to admit, it's very catchy." Summoning up his courage, the dwarf leaned forward and tapped the broadsheet she still had clutched in her hand.

She glanced down at the parchment, taking in the brightly colored artwork first. _It is pretty well executed, I guess. Nothing to identify me or the rest of this mad crew - although that looks suspiciously like one of Isabela's daggers._ Then she saw the slogan. _Maker's shriveled ..._

Anders read aloud over her shoulder. "Remigold Rogue: Hightown Taste, Lowtown Price." He couldn't help it, he started laughing. Within seconds, both dwarves were laughing as well, if not quite as heartily - they were watching for Hawke's reaction.

Still laughing heartily, the mage looked down and saw her staring at him with exasperation, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and she finally grinned, although she smacked him on the arm. "You're in _big_ trouble, mage - letting out personal secrets like that."

"What, should I have told him about our pillow talk instead?" Anders placed one hand theatrically over his heart.

"Oh," she said, then louder, "OH!" and blushed crimson.

"Yes, well, how about we just ignore this last little while," Varric said, clearing his throat and blushing a bit himself.

"Agreed," they all said almost simultaneously.

"I would like to ask for a cask, Varric," Anders said, changing the subject adroitly.

"Really, Blondie? I thought, well I assumed _he_ didn't let you drink anymore." The dwarf gestured vaguely towards his head, but stopped when he realized he was circling his finger at his temple.

The mage grinned back at him, apparently unoffended. "Actually, it's for Justice himself. The lyrium content is enough to make him ... happy, I guess you could say. It reminds him of the Fade, at least. And as an added benefit, I get to have a nip of whisky now and then."

"So it doesn't work on you, either?" Hawke asked with a curious glint in her eye.

He smiled teasingly. "That's right, my dear. Not only does Justice skim out the lyrium for himself, but I use the stuff so much in healing and what not, that it gives me a bit of a buffer. Unfortunately, I imagine templars would probably show the same resistance, or I'd suggest forcing Meredith to drink a pint of the stuff so that we could get a confession out of her in front of the Grand Cleric. But you needn't worry. You will always have the truth from me," he said sincerely, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

"Well, I guess it's time for the party to end," Hawke said, yawning widely. "And that's quite enough truth for me for one evening. Varric, you make damned sure Merrill is okay, and tell her that Anders and I will be by to talk to her in the next few days. We need to determine just what kind of spells her ... spirit wants to teach her. Some more offensive spells _would_ be handy, I suppose." Anders made a small grumbling noise, but nodded in agreement.

Varric glanced over his shoulder towards the bed, where Merrill was now sprawled in an ungainly tangle of limbs and blankets. His face took on a very thoughtful expression, then he smiled tenderly. "I will, Hawke. She'll be safe here."

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, she rose, shook hands with Jakdan, and then gave Varric a hug. "Crazy dwarf," she whispered in his ear. "Next time you want to experiment, choose something safer than a truth serum ... especially with _this_ group." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and she and Anders left, arms wrapped around each other's waists.

After they were gone, Jakdan looked at Varric. "I see what that pirate girl meant about the mage," he said, nodding wisely. "It's plain to see he's Stone solid in love with her, and she's not much different when it comes to him. As angry as she was with all of us, he turned it aside with a few words and a glance." He reached across to the decanter and filled a final glass for each of them.

Varric accepted his glass and sighed. "You nailed it, Jakdan. And now I know what they are ... not lamb and mint, though. She's silverite and he's lyrium. Powerful enough individually, but downright unstoppable once they're combined."

"And dangerous," the older dwarf muttered, taking a sip.

"Aye," Varric said sadly. "And dangerous," and drained his glass.

_**Epilogue**_

_Happy Satinalia, sister. Life here in Ferelden has been fairly uneventful, except for the attempt on Queen Siobhan's life a few months back. We heard it happened just before the first harvest, which is a funny coincidence because that was right around the time little Anders and I were gathering berries on the hillside overlooking the millrace. I had the most alarming dizzy spell - it was hard to breathe, and I narrowly missed falling off into the water- which would have put me in a really bad spot. Luckily he's a smart and talented little boy like his namesake. He caught me by the hand and channeled energy to me just long enough to catch my balance. I sent him for Jasper, and since then I've been fine. Of course, it might just have been early morning sickness; yes, we're expecting again - a spring baby this time! I hope you'll be able to come visit in time for the birth. And let Mother know, I guess._

_Do you remember Old Barlin? He's been yammering on about his crops again ..._

Hawke finished reading the letter and carefully refolded it, then stared at the far wall with eyes unfocused. Three months ago, it would have been. She tapped the parchment against her teeth, calculating, then nodded sharply. It matched - apparently all the Amell women had been on the brink of death on the same day. Luckily, she was the only one who'd actually died. She shook her head, and carefully placed the letter in the blazing fireplace, watching it blacken and curl into ash. She was _not_ going to feed Anders' suspicions any further with this news. They had more than enough to worry about right now as it was. Not only had she received a worrisome letter from Feynriel, but the Arishok had asked for her, by name.

_*Lachryma Andraste - In Vino Veritas - The tears of Andraste - wine loosens the tongue (in wine the truth)_

_*Fama volet - rumor travels fast_

_*Non sum qualis eram - I'm a different person today_

**Finis:** The chapter title is my final play on the alcohol-related theme - coming up with appropriate drinking chapter titles was a fun brain teaser along the way. By the way, there is a delicious sweet Italian wine called Lachryma Christi - which I just adapted to Thedas.

Goodness, I've learned so much about Fenris, Isabela and Aveline in this go-round, and I've discovered that I like them a lot more than I ever thought possible. Sebastian - well, he has a part in another tale to tell - I mentioned it in an earlier Author's Note: "Reading, Writing & Revenge," and we see the seeds for it planted by Hawke's bargain with him here. But I'm afraid I still can't develop any sympathy or liking for him at all. I leave that to the masterful storytelling in MsBarrows' "Eye of the Storm". That just leaves Merrill. *sigh* She's a sweet girl, but she's awfully shy. Hopefully I'll be able to wheedle a story out of her someday - maybe during a picnic on a sheltered beach along the Wounded Coast - perhaps in Massive Head Trauma Bay? Somehow, I do think she has a morbid sense of humor - I can easily picture her and Hawke trading ever-more-ridiculous place-names back and forth and giggling helplessly while everybody else rolls their eyes.

Then, of course - there's the matter of the triangle between young Leandra, Meredith and Malcolm - just what happened that night in Lowtown? And don't forget War and Death. Will the other two Horsemen show up? I'm not sure. But all that is in the future. Bless all of you patient folks who have read, enjoyed and reviewed (wait, you _did_ remember to review, didn't you?) - I salute you once more with a hearty swallow of Remigold Rogue: _**Prosit!**_


End file.
